


Will I Lose My Dignity?

by Bedalk05



Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [17]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Everyone Gets A Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Lambert Needs a Hug (The Witcher), M/M, Panic Attacks, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bedalk05/pseuds/Bedalk05
Summary: Coën arrives at Kaer Morhen. Yennefer doesn’t know how she feels about this. Jaskier continues to recover with Geralt and the pack’s support. Lambert continues to be a skittish bastard. Vesemir continues to be fondly exasperated and sickeningly in love.And Eskel-is that a goat?(To those just joining us, all you need to know from previous parts of this series is in the beginning note so you can jump right in!)
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Original Female Character(s), Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Male Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Roach/Scorpion (The Witcher), Vesemir (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s), Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg/Coën (The Witcher)
Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742950
Comments: 303
Kudos: 340





	1. Will Someone Care?

**Author's Note:**

> To those just joining us, here's the cliff notes *takes a deep breath*:
> 
> -Jaskier is a wolf shifter and Geralt is now a shifter because of magic shenanigans. They also have a cat named Dandelion  
> -Jaskier was kidnapped and tortured (off screen) by Stregobor who is now very very dead  
> -Roach and Scorpion have a foal named Biscuit  
> -Pairings in this verse are as follows: Geralt/Jaskier, Lambert/Aiden, Eskel/Kamil (who's a hunter and fox shifter), Vesemir/Marya (who's a wolf shifter and Jaskier's mother, Ciri/Ewa (who is half-elf and owns a blacksmith shop with her twin bro Leon and their cat Alloy)
> 
> *gasps for air* Did I forget anything? Yes? No? Either way, you'll be able to catch on easily enough. Alright! Shall we proceed?
> 
> (Did any of my regular readers notice I didn't put a chapter count this time?? Are you proud of me?? Please be proud of me.)

“Eskel, whatcha got there?” Jaskier asks, eyeing the witcher’s chest as something squirms beneath his gambeson. 

While the Wolf looks sheepish yet defensive, Kamil stands beside him with an expression of pure delight. With a begrudging sigh, Eskel reluctantly opens up his gambeson to reveal-”Is that a goat?” Geralt asks, stopping next to Jaskier. A tiny white head pops from under Eskel's hand to peer around with interest as Geralt and Jaskier stare back. 

Bouncing on his toes Kamil says with barely restrained glee, “Ask Eskel what he named him!” While Eskel shoots Kamil a look of betrayal, Dandelion stands on two feet and leans on Eskel’s legs in an attempt to sniff the newest member of the keep. 

When Jaskier and Geralt wait patiently with matching raised eyebrows, Eskel releases an explosive sigh before mumbling, “Lil Bleater.” 

Jaskier blinks as a wave of giddiness rushes through him. “I’m sorry, run that name by me again?” Jaskier asks, voice strangled as he fights not to laugh. 

Glaring at the amused pair Eskel grits out, “His name is Lil Bleater.” Oh fuck. Jaskier can’t stop himself. Peeling laughter explodes from his chest as joy he hasn’t felt since last winter floods through him.

“You have no right to laugh considering what you named our poor filly,” Geralt rumbles, crossing his arms smugly.

The self-conscious glower Eskel had been shooting Jaskier melts slightly as he turns to his brother greedily. “Tell me,” he demands with a savage grin. 

Geralt smirks. “Biscuit.” 

Now it’s Eskel and Kamil’s turn to chuckle while Jaskier shoves at his mate. “It’s a perfectly good name for a horse,” Jaskier protests with a pout.

“It certainly is,” Eskel chortles, striding up to them. “But you definitely have no leg to stand on when it comes to ridiculous names.” When Eskel plants a friendly hand on Jaskier’s shoulder the shifter can’t help flinching slightly and his good humor withers away like a drooping plant. 

Fuck. Months to work on his response to being touched and still he struggles with it. 

The mirth glittering in Eskel’s eyes fades as he looks down at Jaskier with concern. But Jaskier pastes on a grin and opens his arms. “Mind if I give Lil Bleater the grand tour?” he asks with forced cheer. Eskel shoots Geralt a questioning glance, making Jaskier’s teeth grind, before acquiescing and carefully placing the goat in Jaskier’s hands. Shooting him and Kamil a final strained smile, Jaskier hurries away, doing his best to not make it look like he's fleeing. 

He’s been at the keep for months now, painstakingly piecing himself back together with the help of his pack. He should be better by now. (Jaskier can hear Marya gently lecturing him about how “healing is a process” but fuck that.) He just wants to stop feeling the desperate need to run away any time he’s touched unexpectedly or reminded of his time with that monster. He wants to stop feeling like he’s always a second away from exploding with incomprehensible fury. He just wants to be himself again. 

Eskel turns to Geralt while Jaskier scurries off like a spooked rabbit. Concern burns in his eyes as Kamil presses beside him. “How’s he been?” Eskel asks his brother, stomach rolling with dread. 

The blank mask Geralt had been wearing fractures slightly to make way for exhaustion and sorrow. “Better than he was a few months ago,” he rasps, running his hand down his face. “I’m hoping having everyone back will help, even slightly." Eskel’s heart twists with guilt. Leaving the keep after they just got Jaskier back was one of the hardest things he’s had to do in awhile. One of his family members needed him and instead of being there he had to fulfill a duty he never even had a choice in. And to hear that Jaskier had been suffering the entire time Eskel was hunting monsters? Just... _fuck._

“So is touching completely off limits?” Kamil asks, fingers clenching around Eskel’s waist. Even though he’s only known Jaskier for two years, Kamil and him have formed a tight bond given their shifter ancestry, viewing each other practically as cousins if not closer. It must be nearly as unsettling for him witnessing Jaskier like this as it is for Eskel.

Walking sedately toward the stables so Eskel can unload Scorpion, Geralt explains lowly, “It’s best to ask permission or wait for him to approach you first. He hates being handled like glass but he’ll spook if he doesn’t have warning or isn’t in the right mindset to be touched.” Turning to pierce Eskel with a solemn stare he adds, “Never go near his neck.” Eskel nods, thinking back to the frightened wolf they interacted with in the spring who cowered from anything that moved. He doesn’t know what was done to Jaskier but for him to retreat so deeply into himself and to not be comfortable wearing Geralt’s betrothal necklace...well, Eskel has his imagination. 

When they enter the stable Eskel is surprised to find Jaskier again. “And this is your sister Biscuit which is not as much of a ridiculous name as Lil Bleater, and you’ve already met Dandelion,” Jaskier finishes, placing the goat gently down so the cat can finally get a proper whiff. He stiffens minutely at the sound of boots crunching over hay but when Jaskier turns to see who arrived he shoots them a tiny smile. 

Eskel can’t stop the small grin as he approaches the little filly, only to be stopped by Geralt stepping between them. “You and your horny horse aren’t coming near my girls,” he rumbles menacingly. 

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier drags Geralt away, the witcher’s eyes widening comically as he stumbles to the side. Eskel chuckles. Gotta love shifter strength. “We’ve talked about this my dear, you are sharing custody with Eskel and Scorpion,” Jaskier chastises lightly. 

Ignoring the murderous scowl still being shot his way, Eskel crouches before the foal. Dark eyes glimmer around a bright gold coat, her white tail swishing with interest. “You remember me?” he croons, lifting a hand so the horse can curiously lip at his fingers. “I helped you come into this world despite your grandpappy's protests.” 

“I stand by those protests,” Geralt grumbles mutinously from where he’s now seated on the ground and stroking a russet furred wolf. Eskel ducks his head to hide his smirk. Smart of Jaskier to bring out his secret weapon; Geralt can never resist petting soft fur, especially if the fur belongs to his partner. Kamil kneels beside Eskel, staring at the foal with wide eyes and Eskel can’t stop a fond smile from fully crossing his face now. Kamil has never ridden a horse before, and the few times Eskel has offered, the hunter has quickly declined. Given the few details Kamil has shared about his childhood, Eskel wouldn’t be surprised if his aversion to horses has something to do with his bastard of a father. 

But interacting with a foal is a lot less intimidating than mounting a stallion like Scorpion. Gently grasping Kamil’s wrist, Eskel digs a sugar cube from his pocket and places it in Kamil’s palm before guiding it close to Biscuit’s snout. Though Kamil tenses up, when the filly delicately picks the cube up with a flick of her tail Kamil cracks a grin. “It tickles,” he breathes, laughing when Lil Bleater butts against Kamil’s knee imperiously. “Sorry fella, I don’t have anything for you,” he says ruefully, picking the goat up to plop onto his knees. Lil Bleater’s displeased bleat is cut off when Dandelion insistently rubs against the goat’s head. Eskel looks on, heart melting at Kamil’s delighted expression. Fuck, but he’s beautiful.

As the two animals become acquainted and Kamil runs his fingers through them both, Eskel moves to slip Biscuit another sugar cube only to have it slapped out of his hand. “Stop fattening up my girl,” Geralt growls, meeting an unimpressed raised eyebrow in response. 

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier taps Kamil’s shoulder, nodding towards the door. “Wanna get outta here and leave these two oafs to their pissing contest?” 

Gently placing the two animals onto Eskel’s lap, Kamil stands, brushing off some stray hay. “Don’t mind if I do cuz,” he grins, moving to hook his arm through Jaskier’s before hesitating a few inches away. Jaskier stiffens and bites his lip. Glancing at Geralt furtively, he take a slow breath, before looping his arm through Kamil’s. The fox shifter brightens, shoulders sagging with relief as Jaskier leads them out. 

While their partners chatter and walk away, Eskel turns to Geralt who is staring after them. Nudging his shoulder, Eskel waits for Geralt to turn back to him. “How are you doing?” 

Geralt’s expression shutters, moving to feed Roach some oats from where she’s nudging Biscuit. “Fine,” he grunts, avoiding Eskel’s attempt to catch his eyes. 

“Bullshit.” 

Geralt stiffens, turning from Roach after she butts his chest so he can begin removing Scorpion’s tack. “What do you want me to say?” he growls, still refusing to make eye contact. 

Placing Dandelion and Lil Bleater down and smiling fondly when they curl up together, Eskel stands to stare Geralt down, arms crossed. “The truth would be nice,” he says pointedly. 

Sighing wearily, Geralt pauses from where he is pulling off Scorpion’s halter and bridle before shaking his head and continuing. Turning his back so he can hang the equipment over Scorpion's stable door, Geralt says guardedly, “Since when do we talk about our bloody feelings?” 

Unloading his packs from Scorpion with a solid pat on the stallion’s flank Eskel says lightly, “Since you got yourself a bard you’re head over heels for.” 

Geralt huffs out a laugh, finally flicking his gaze to meet Eskel’s. “And since you found yourself a hunter you’re gone for too?”

Eskel uncrosses his arms, glancing out the stable door to where he can see a fox and wolf wrestling in the courtyard. “Yeah, since then,” he says softly. 

Walking back over with a brush, Geralt starts grooming Scorpion, brow furrowed. “It’s been a long few months,” he finally murmurs. Mournful eyes look up to reach him. “He hasn’t picked up his lute again.” 

Eskel’s breath leaves him as he feels like he‘s been suckerpunched. Fuck. “That bad?” 

Eskel watches Geralt’s fingers turn white as he pauses grooming and clenches around the brush. “I know he’s only told me a watered down version of what happened to him and even then it’s like reopening a wound and prodding at it. For the first few months I could hardly touch him and I kept slipping up, calling him little wolf.” Geralt turns back to his grooming. “Marya and Vesemir have helped but-” Geralt shrugs as he collects his thoughts. “I miss his music,” he whispers. 

Eskel takes a steady breath. Fuck, he had no idea it was so bad. Coming around the horse to place a reassuring hand on Geralt’s shoulder Eskel says firmly, “You’re not alone Geralt. We’ve got your back.” Eskel watches solemnly as Geralt’s shoulders sag like the crumbling walls of the keep, like a man trying to hold himself together for the one he loves, like someone who has finally been told he doesn’t have to walk alone. 

*******

Yennefer arrived today to find the keep overflowing with witchers, shifters, blacksmiths, and animals. Now as she watches the various couples sit together for dinner, Yennefer feels a familiar hollowness in her chest before pushing it aside. She doesn’t need anyone. And if there’s one thing she’s learned in her long lifetime, it’s that no one wants her anyway. 

The doors slam open and as one, every head turns, hands flicking to their weapons. “Coën!” Lambert exclaims, striding over to the newcomer to grasp his arm in greeting. As the rest of the Wolf witchers do the same, Yennefer’s eyes narrow. He's definitely a witcher but not one she’s seen before. Dressed in black leather with a curious brown strap crossing his chest and shoulders, the man stands tall, one could almost say regal, his face partially covered by a bushy beard. 

As the newcomer makes his way to the table, Lambert and Eskel’s arms thrown over his shoulders, Yennefer realises that his eyes aren't like the Wolfs' or Aiden’s; more yellow green and somewhat bloodshot. Glancing back to the table, Yennefer watches with interest as Aiden stiffens, eyes narrowing as he takes in Lambert's arm around Coën. Based off of Jaskier’s and Ciri’s matching grins as they jump up to hug the witcher though, this must not be the first winter he came here. Just the first one when Yennefer was here as well. 

“Give him space you unruly pups,” Vesemir grouches, trodding over with a new bowl of stew. Gesturing towards the empty seat by Yennefer Vesemir says, “Sit. Eat. We make Aiden cook now that we know he has a talent for stews.” When Coën nods to Aiden in thanks, the Cat only glares mulishly at him, dragging the seat Lambert plopped back into over to him so the Wolf is nearly glued to his side. Yennefer smirks. Seems like they’ve finally discovered what makes Aiden lose his carefully held composure. 

She slips a disinterested mask on once the newcomer walks toward her. Instead of sitting immediately however, the witcher honest to gods bows to her. “My lady,” he rumbles, voice somehow lower and rougher than even Geralt’s. 

Raising an unimpressed brow Yennefer says dryly, “Charmed.” 

Her eyebrow only raises higher when the man’s lips twitch in response before he smoothly settles into his seat, placing his bowl before him. “I am Coën of the Griffin School,” he says in way of introduction, posture upright and quite unlike the slouched positions the Wolves often find themselves in. 

"I'm-"

“Lady Yennefer,” he interrupts, making Yennefer bristle. Of course, another self-important man who loves to hear himself talk. Something must have slipped past her mask because Coën ducks his head. “Apologies. I've been eager to meet you my lady, having heard a great many things about you." 

What the fuck is with all this my lady bullshit? Shaking off how off-kilter the man is making her, Yennefer flashes one of her more dangerous smiles. “All bad things I hope,” she drawls, drumming her nails on the table. Why did she have to be the only one with an empty seat beside her?

“Quite the contrary,” he murmurs, and how can such a large and brutish man look coy? Huffing, Yennefer turns back to her meal, which she has to begrudgingly admit is delicious. Aiden is a god when it comes to matching up spices. 

Taking Yennefer’s ensuing silence as the dismissal it is, Coën begins eating his stew, but instead of wolfing it down like most in the keep, he takes small, dignified sips. “Finally, a witcher with manners,” Yennefer mutters despite herself. 

Again those lips twitch beneath that bushy beard. “It’s been said that the Griffin School holds higher standards when it comes to etiquette.” 

“Then by all means, invite more of your brothers here,” Yennefer quips lightly, frowning when Coën’s face grows shadowed.

“Alas my lady, I am the last of my kind,” he says quietly. 

Well. Fuck. 

Grappling with what to say, and wondering why she even cares to respond when the other members of the keep clearly want a chance to talk with him, Yennefer raises her goblet. “Here’s to survival,” she states awkwardly, watching with something close to relief when his face softens. 

As the witcher turns fully to take her in, eyes dark, Yennefer feels a slight shudder down her spine. Yennefer returns his look with an assessing gaze. Hm. She supposes he could be a good fuck. Not like there are any other options in this bloody keep. “Thank you my lady,” Coen says with a dip of his head. Yennefer rolls her eyes. She wonders when he’ll drop this whole noble act though. It's going to get old quite soon.

*******

Lil Bleater is very happy to have such a large herd, though there are now too many options for whose fur to ride in during the bright time. Lil Bleater guesses he’ll just have to use his hooves a bit more then. But now his herd is laying down for the dark time and Lil Bleater is picking his way through them all to decide who to sleep on top of. Hmm, lots of fur over there. Lil Bleater clambers up on a big pile of fur that smells like predator but who carried him and introduced him to his little sister today so Lil Bleater thinks he’s okay. Besides, Lil Bleater has been travelling with cuddly predator for many bright and dark times and cuddly predator hasn’t tried to eat him yet. Nice predator releases a low rumble as Lil Bleater settles onto his back but Lil Bleater can tell it’s not a mad rumble so he closes his eyes. Lil Bleater’s older brother jumps up next to him and rubs his head against Lil Bleater’s. Lil Bleater releases a happy bleat before curling up next to older brother. He’s happy that cuddly predator and papa bleater brought Lil Bleater to the rest of their herd. Lil Bleater can tell it’s going to be a warm cold time. 

Dandelion purrs on top of loud one who-is-not-so-loud-lately as he curls next to little brother. Since the rest of loud one who-is-not-so-loud-lately’s litter has come he has done the human sign for happiness more. Loud one who-is-not-so-loud-lately and soft one have stayed for many bright and dark times in their litter with mama loud one and papa soft one, more than they usually do. Dandelion missed the rest of the litter; it's not as fun to climb the tall things without wild one. Dandelion doesn’t know why but loud one who-is-not-so-loud-lately wasn’t with soft one for many bright and dark times and when loud one came back he was no longer loud. Dandelion hopes that loud one will become loud again. Dandelion misses the noise he would make with his wooden thing. 

Alloy usually spends the dark time with littermate, metal sister, metal brother, or sister-who-smells-like-metal-sister but shouty one and two legged-littermate are here and shouty one gives some of the best pets. Rubbing her head against littermate and little brother, Alloy passes them and climbs over the many members of her litter to perch on shouty one’s head. Shouty one shouts but that’s okay; that’s why his name is shouty one. Besides, after shouty one shouts shouty one pets and shouty one’s pets are worth any shouting. 

Jaskier surveys the den and breathes in the scent that is unmistakably pack. Despite Geralt, Marya, and Vesemir’s best efforts, they couldn’t make up for all of Jaskier’s missing pack mates. But with everyone sprawled throughout their den room, Jaskier feels another wound slowly sew shut. He’s gonna be okay. He has his pack with him. He’s gonna be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Locktea for the idea to include an key of the animal's names for their humans. I would like to take this moment to have a conversation with past Bedalk about what an idiotic idea it was to decide that since cats and horses are different species, they would have different names for the humans. Because it's led us to this particular hellscape: 
> 
> **Geralt:** soft one, gentle one  
>  **Jaskier:** loud one, noisy one, nice predator 
> 
> **Lambert:** wild one, shouty one  
>  **Aiden:** two-legged littermate
> 
>  **Eskel:** strong one, papa bleater  
>  **Kamil:** quiet one, cuddly predator 
> 
> **Marya:** mama loud one, mama wolf  
>  **Vesemir:** papa soft one, papa wolf
> 
>  **Leon:** metal brother  
>  **Ewa:** fire one, metal sister, metal one  
>  **Ciri:** tall one, sister-who-smells-like-metal-sister, little one 
> 
> **Yennefer:** scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore  
>  **Coen:** large one
> 
>  **Dandelion:** littermate, older brother  
>  **Alloy:** littermate, older sister  
>  **Roach:** Mama Dandelion, Mama Biscuit  
>  **Biscuit:** little sister  
>  **Lil Bleater:** little brother


	2. Will I Wake Tomorrow From This Nightmare?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer wonders what she's worth. Ewa's got Geralt's back. Aiden is jealous. A new discovery rocks Jaskier to the core. Lambert has his latest existential crisis. The animals of the keep find warm bodies to curl on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to every person who left a kudos and/or comment! 
> 
> I'm thrilled that you are as happy as I am to have Lil Bleater and Coën make an appearance. If you have any requests for what shenanigans you would like to see Lil Bleater get up to or Coën encounter, let me know in the comments!

A couple of weeks have passed and Yennefer and Coën’s interactions have gotten more and more heated. Whenever they cross each other’s paths she can feel those peculiar eyes watching her, whether she’s reading in the library, tutoring Ciri, or trading insults with Jaskier. (And what a relief it was the first time Jaskier made a snarky comment about her dress; she missed the bard’s fire.) 

Yet despite the many hints she has dropped, the bloody witcher hasn’t made a move. Gods, does Yennefer need to do everything? 

As Coën walks into the library that afternoon, Yennefer shoves him against the wall, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. She smiles when Coën returns it greedily, placing those large hands on her hips. _Finally._

Her satisfaction is short-lived however when the witcher stiffens and uses his grip on her waist to push her away. 

A sickening pool of shame and rejection Yennefer has vowed to never feel again curdles in her gut and wraps around her throat. How could she have read this so wrong? Yennefer could have sworn he wanted her. 

Well fine, fuck it. 

Straightening her gown, Yennefer shoots him a disdainful scowl before turning to make a dignified retreat. Before she can get far though, a calloused hand wraps around her wrist. Whirling towards him, eyes blazing, Yennefer hisses, “Make up your mind witcher. You either want to fuck me or not.” 

To her utter shock, Yennefer watches as Coën kneels to the ground, fingers still clasped around Yennefer’s hand. “I won’t lie and say I am not sorely tempted,” he rasps, “But I wish to court you if you are amenable.” Yellow-green eyes peer up at her, swirling with apprehension and hope. 

Yennefer blinks. He wants to fucking _what?_

“Do you take me for some wilting flower, some trembling virgin?” Yennefer sneers, ripping her hand from his grasp. Placing his palms on his knees, Coën continues to gaze up at her placidly. “No my lady. I see a beautiful and powerful sorceress who is worth more than to be fucked and cast aside.” 

Yennefer backs away, flashes of memories she has spent decades suppressing suddenly making an appearance. He’s wrong; four marks is all she’s worth. “I don’t need your pity _witcher,”_ she spits, spinning away. “Find me when you've dropped this whole chivalrous charade.” And swallowing her guilt as she leaves him kneeling alone, Yennefer flees to her room. 

Court her. Yeah right. Since when has she been worth such an effort? What a fool.

*******

Ewa and Leon are getting started on one of their winter orders while Ciri looks on when Geralt knocks on the door frame. “Ah, my apprentice!” Ewa exclaims with a shit-eating grin. Despite the rocky start to their relationship, Geralt and Ewa have become closer over the past three years. Working with him in the forge has certainly helped build a relationship founded on mutual respect. Throwing a rag at Geralt who deftly catches it, Ewa nods towards a dirty counter. “Get to it.” Ewa’s treatment of Geralt in the forge started the first winter she was here when the witcher wouldn’t stop interrogating her like the overprotective father he is. To Geralt’s credit, he took Ewa’s treatment in stride and they’ve since created a solid working relationship in which she gets to order the White Wolf himself to clean her forge.

“Yes ma’am,” Geralt says dryly before getting to work. Grinning at Leon who’s staring at her wide eyed, Ewa turns back to drawing the metal.

“Geralt you need to stop letting Ewa boss you around, it gives her too much of a power trip,” Ciri complains as she drapes herself over Geralt’s back.

“My forge my rules,” Ewa barks at the same time Geralt recites obediently, “Her forge her rules.” 

Leon shakes his head before returning to where he’s heating some wrought iron to mold. “Teach me your ways,” he mumbles, sweat gleaming off of his bare head. 

Ewa beams, tucking a braid behind a pointed ear. “Stick with me little bro,” she says confidently, sticking out her tongue as she works to taper the end of the sword. 

“Three minutes,” her twin mutters, making Ewa’s grin grow. Her smile falters however when Ewa sees the tight embrace Geralt has swept Ciri in. Ewa’s starlight stares over Geralt’s shoulder with a worried look as she returns the hug. Frowning, Ewa sets aside her tools and metal and pulls off her gloves. There has been a sense of unease in the air at the old keep as everyone settles in for the winter. Despite Jaskier’s smiles and Geralt’s monosyllabic hums, both men are clearly suffering, Geralt more subtly than Jaskier. Ewa glances at Leon and back to Ciri. They’ve all experienced events that changed them irrevocably, Leon and Ewa with their parent’s murders and Ciri with the slaughter of her people. But none of them had a loved one who was there on the _outside_ who tried to pick up the pieces afterwards. She can only imagine the silent struggle Geralt has been experiencing as he tries to hold himself together for his partner. 

Well, it’s a good thing the witcher has them then. Striding over to where Geralt is only just releasing Ciri from a hug, face blank, Ewa claps the witcher on the shoulder. “I know Jaskier isn’t comfortable wearing the betrothal necklace anymore. Want to work on an alternative?” Ewa doesn’t expect his golden eyes to burn with so much gratitude when Geralt turns to her. They stare at each other for several seconds while Ewa attempts to pour her understanding, her sympathy, her reassurance into her expression. After a long moment Geralt gives an small nod. Ewa smiles. “Let’s brainstorm some ideas.” 

*******

Jaskier watches as Aiden grows incrementally more tense while he witnesses Lambert and Coën spar. “You good there buddy?” he finally asks dubiously.

“Peachy,” Aiden grits out. Jaskier glances over to where Lambert is laughing at something Coën had said while spinning to avoid a thrust. Is the Cat jealous? He didn’t think he would ever see Aiden’s smooth confidence slip away. Jaskier hums. While ordinarily he would offer to spar to help Aiden burn out what he’s currently feeling, Jaskier is still feeling skittish after their failed sparring session a few months ago. 

He’ll just offer the second best option then. “Wanna hunt?” Aiden flicks his gaze to Jaskier, eyes narrowing. Jaskier endeavors to look nonchalant. These witchers are notoriously bad at accepting help. 

Aiden grunts. “Fine.” 

Ten minutes later, Jaskier is loping through the woods while Aiden treks behind him with a bow. Though Jaskier had intended to stay on two feet so they could talk, when he caught the various scents of prey, he couldn’t help but to shift, instincts still haywire and unbalanced. He’s about to pounce on a rabbit’s burrow when another smell like rotten cabbage drifts on the wind. A moment later, a kikimora launches out of a bush. Aiden shoots an arrow, swearing as he dives out of the way. Witnessing one of his pack mates threatened, Jaskier sees red.

He’s not sure what happens next. All he feels is a blinding fury as he tackles the kikimora and tears into it. All he knows is that he needs to _kill._ It’s what he was made to do. Protect Master. Kill all who threaten him. 

The body beneath the shifter isn’t moving anymore but Jaskier can’t stop ripping it apart piece by piece. Someone is shouting distantly but Jaskier can’t hear it. He needs to kill. That is his job. That is his purpose. 

When something grabs his back Jaskier twirls and tackles it with a snarl, latching his teeth around its throat before the scent of peppercorn hits his nose and hands stroke through his fur. 

Blinking rapidly, Jaskier finds himself dragged out of a haze and face to face with his master. No, wait, why did he call Aiden that? 

_Aiden?_

With a yelp, Jaskier throws himself off of the Cat, shifting so he can tend to the wounds he caused. “Oh _fuck,”_ Jaskier gasps as he sees blood sluggishly pour from Aiden’s neck. 

Stemming the flow with his hand Aiden smiles reassuringly as he sits up. “Don’t worry Jaskier, it’s shallow.” Jaskier can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. _Fuck_ why does he keep hurting people? Turning to see the mangled remains of the monster, Jaskier feels a collar pressing against his throat. Wrapping his hands around his neck, Jaskier falls to his knees, gasping for air. _I obeyed! Please don’t hurt me again!_

Bloody hands grasp his shoulders as the world swims before Jaskier’s eyes. “Breathe for me bardling, follow my breath,” Aiden soothes. Blinking up at the Cat helplessly, Jaskier gasps out a breath before trying to follow Aiden. “Breathe in for 5 seconds,” he coaches, modeling it, “and now out for 7.” Slowly, Jaskier follows the instructions, staring intently at where Aiden’s chest rises and falls.

Aiden’s still alive. He’s still breathing. _Fuck,_ Jaskier didn’t kill him. 

When he feels like he can take in air again, Jaskier scrambles backwards. “How can you help me after what I just did?” Jaskier cries, feeling that constriction around his throat again. Closing his eyes, he breathes through his nose, repeating the steps Aiden had just shown him. 

“You know why your Wolves didn’t trust me when I first arrived?” Aiden asks, and Jaskier can’t help but open his eyes in confusion at the odd segway. As Aiden leans back on his elbows, Jaskier takes in another breath of air. Fuck, Aiden wasn’t lying, the wound was shallow. It’s hardly bleeding anymore. 

Gulping, Jaskier’s hands fidget restlessly. “Geralt just said Cats are dangerous assassins.” Aiden smiles wryly, sitting up to pull off his tunic and toss it at Jaskier. Jaskier blinks. Fuck, he hadn’t even registered that he was naked. Flashing the Cat a weak smile in thanks, Jaskier pulls the tunic over his head. Good thing the first snow is late this year. 

“The Cat formula was different from the Wolf one. Made us unstable, especially when feeling strong emotions and when fighting,” Aiden explains, studying his hands. “They call it bloodlust.” Aiden’s eyes flick up to where Jaskier is watching him, arms wrapped around himself protectively. “I saw that same madness in your eyes.” The Cat’s gaze sharpens and he leans forward. “Did the mage inject anything in you? Say anything about altering you in any way?”

Jaskier shrinks as the memories of his time under the power of Stregobor press against his mind. He closes his eyes to try to keep them at bay so they don't overwhelm him before obediently trying to recall anything like what Aiden asked. Soon dawning horror spreads through him and Jaskier has to swallow down the urge to vomit. “He-he wanted to make an army of shifters,” Jaskier whispers opening his eyes in shock. “Said I was the test subject. I thought all the shit he had done to me was just for his own enjoyment but-” Jaskier can’t breathe again, vines twining around his throat and chest and arms and legs until he can’t escape. What did he do to him? Is that why Jaskier was so consumed with the drive to kill? Is that why he called Aiden master? Petrified eyes turn to sympathetic golden ones. “What am I?” 

Aiden knee walks closer, raising a hand and waiting until Jaskier gives a nod. Wrapping his arms around Jaskier Aiden murmurs, “You’re a bard. You’re a shifter. You’re Geralt’s mate. You are the glue that holds this pack together.” Aiden pauses as Jaskier nuzzles his throat to breathe in that calming scent of pack. “And you’re the only one who will save me from getting my throat ripped out by an irate wolf-witcher when he smells me all over you.” 

That last line gets a wet laugh out of Jaskier as he curls closer into Aiden’s embrace. “I’m scared,” he says weakly after a long moment. 

The arms around him tighten. “That’s okay. You’ve got your pack. And we'll look after you.” 

*******

When Aiden and Jaskier walk back through the gate, Geralt notes several things. One, they aren’t carrying any kills. Two, Jaskier’s eyes are red from crying. Three, Aiden’s arm is wrapped around Jaskier. Four, Jaskier is wearing Aiden’s tunic and covered in blood. Five, _the Cat’s scent is all over his mate._

Without a second thought, Geralt shifts and plows into Aiden with a snarl. He’s about to rip into the already bloody witcher when Jaskier shifts and gets between them. _No_ he says emphatically, pressing his muzzle against Geralt’s neck. Geralt only releases a rumbling growl, but then Jaskier sends Geralt flashes of memories in the forest. Jaskier tearing into a monster and then turning on Aiden, emotions of horror and shame and fear, Aiden calming Jaskier down when the shifter flew into a panic. 

Geralt blinks down at the Cat currently baring his throat up at Geralt. With a confused whine, Geralt backs off of the witcher and shifts, turning to Jaskier with concern. “What happened?” he demands. 

Shifting back, Jaskier wraps his arms around himself. “I don’t know,” he whispers. 

*******

Marya watches grimly as Julian cowers under Yennefer’s gentle probing. Even wrapped up with Geralt, Dandelion, and Lil Bleater, the shifter is still trembling. Yennefer shakes her head with a frown. “When I healed him after we got him back I didn’t notice the difference, I was just focusing on sealing his wounds. But his magical aura has altered somewhat, closer to Geralt’s than yours now Marya.” 

“His eyes were like my brethren. Like my own when I lose control,” Aiden shares from where he’s leaning against a wall. “Jaskier said that the wanker wanted to raise an army of shifters and he was the test subject.” 

Turning to Julian Marya asks urgently, “Tell me Buttercup, what were you thinking, what were you feeling in the forest?” 

Burrowing his face into Geralt’s neck Julian takes several shaky breaths. “Aiden was attacked and then it was like something took over,” he whispers. “Like my purpose was to kill, was to protect him.” He gulps. “My instincts thought he was my master.” 

Fuck. Marya meets the horrified eyes of Geralt as her stomach twists with dread. She hadn’t even imagined that the monster had been experimenting on Julian. Despite their encouragement and support, Julian still finds it difficult to talk about what happened to him before Geralt and Yennefer arrived to save him. If the mage was trying to raise an army it figures that the bastard would want some way to activate his soldiers. Or his slaves, she should say. 

“We’re gonna figure this out pup. You’ll be okay,” Marya soothes, itching to wrap her son up into her arms and never let him go. When Jaskier peeks up from where he’s buried in Geralt’s arms, he stares at her, eyes silently begging for something. “Want me to shift pup?” she murmurs, relief washing over her when Jaskier tentatively nods. Geralt shifts over as Marya clambers onto the bed to twine herself around her son. They’ll figure this out. Somehow. 

*******

“Enjoy your sparring and bath with the Griffin?” Aiden asks mildly from where he’s sharpening his sword in their room. Lambert blinks at the Cat’s stiff posture and frown marring that good looking mug. What the fuck got stuck up his arse? 

Shoving his hands in his trouser pockets, Lambert strolls up to where Aiden is seated. “As a matter of fact, yes.” Aiden bristles at this, and Lambert winces as the sword shrieks against the whetstone when Aiden presses too harshly. Lambert looks down and studies the Cat. His lips are pinched and his expression is close to murderous, which is very unlike him. An exchange from last spring floats back to Lambert's mind. Wanting to goad Aiden into fucking him more, Lambert made a passing comment about trading the Cat out for Coën instead. Aiden then proceeded to blow his bloody mind. Yeah, that was a good night. 

Obviously, he had said that just to get a rise out of Aiden but now he’s wondering if the Cat took it to heart. A slow smile spreads across Lambert’s face, and he kneels down so he can peer up at Aiden. “Are you jealous?” he purrs, batting his lashes. 

Aiden’s fingers clench around his sword and a tendon in his temple pulses. “I don’t get jealous,” he grits out, before causing the whetstone to screech again. Lambert promptly rips the irritating thing away and sets it aside. 

Propping his chin on Aiden’s knee Lambert tilts his head in an attempt to look thoughtful. “So, there’s nothing wrong?” 

“Yep,” is the terse reply as Aiden stares determinately into the middle distance and not at Lambert. Lambert rolls his eyes. Since when is _he_ the mature one in the relationship?

Rising so he can crawl into the Cat’s lap, Lambert twines his fingers through that curly hair. “Don’t worry, you’re the only witcher for me,” Lambert says in a tone that was supposed to sound cheeky. But if the flash of wonder and heat in Aiden’s gaze is any indication, it came out slightly more sincere than Lambert intended. Dammit. 

”I have something for you,” Aiden murmurs, running his fingers up and down Lambert’s back and making him shiver. “And I’m fully prepared for you to run away when I show it.” 

Lambert eyes him dubiously. “Then maybe don’t show it to me,” he suggests, rocking his hips with a wiggle of his brow to silently recommend a more pleasurable activity they could partake in. 

Aiden shoots him a tiny smile. “I’ve never been known to do things I don’t wish to do.” When Aiden prods at his sides, Lambert begrudgingly clambers off of Aiden’s lap. Lambert watches warily as the Cat stands and rifles through one of his packs. “This doesn’t have to change anything between us,” he starts, back still to Lambert. “Just, see it as an expression of intent.” 

When Aiden turns around, a dagger lays across his palm. Interest piqued, Lambert walks up to study the weapon. It’s sleek and lethal looking, a golden gemstone at its handle. Lambert looks up at Aiden, brow furrowed. “I don’t get it,” he mumbles. 

Taking a breath, Aiden offers it to Lambert, grasping it by the blade like an idiot. “I made this for you as a demonstration of my affections. I want to spend the rest of my life on this godsforsaken Continent by your side kitten.” Lambert stares at the dagger blankly, replaying Aiden’s previous words to himself. _Expression of intent._ Vesemir, Geralt, and Ewa’s handmade gifts to their partners flash through his mind. Oh _fuck._

Aiden sighs as he watches Lambert sprint out of the room like the building caught on fire. Flipping the dagger, he sets it aside reverently and returns to sharpening his sword. Well, that went about as well as expected. 

Lambert isn’t hiding in the ramparts. He’s checking their stability. Well, he was until Dandelion joined him and what’s he supposed to do? Not pet the cat? He’s not a bloody _monster._ Lambert twists from where he was staring at a wall as Vesemir climbs towards the nook he’s cornered himself in. “You’ve never made this climb easy,” Vesemir huffs. 

“Maybe ‘cause I wanna be left alone,” Lambert grumbles mulishly. Vesemir doesn’t respond, settling down about a meter away and dangling his feet over the edge. This was familiar. Lambert lost count of how many times Vesemir would follow him after he tried to hide from the bastards who “taught” him. Somehow the arsehole always managed to coax him back down. Lambert doesn’t know how. Old coot must have magic or some shit. 

Neither of them speak for several long minutes while Lambert continues to stroke through Dandelion’s fur. Eventually, he can’t take the silence anymore. “Aiden proposed and I blame you, you fucking jackass.” A bushy brow is raised in his direction, making Lambert scowl. “You and Geralt and Ewa gave him _ideas,”_ Lambert exclaims, gesturing in the air uselessly. 

Vesemir hums, leaning back on his elbows. “So he proposed and you graciously accepted before professing your undying love to him and climbing up here to take in the view?”

“Hardy fucking har,” Lambert growls, bristling at the teasing tone of his fath- ment- _arsehole who trained him._

Lambert returns his gaze to the cat purring in his lap. Never ceases to amaze him that the tiny creature isn’t afraid of him. “What are you afraid of pup?” Lambert’s hackles raise at the insinuation. “I’m not fucking scared!” he snarls, turning his back to the dickbag. “I’m just following what I was fucking taught _Master Vesemir,”_ he spits venomously, and he doesn’t need to look to know the old man flinched. “Don’t form connections, right? Love isn’t for witchers, remember?” He releases a mocking laugh. “Way to practice what you preach.” 

Silence. Lambert stares studiously at the brick before him, refusing to give into the whole “wait quietly for Lambert to talk” bullshit again. Hmm...these bricks should be replaced. Yeah, that’s why he’s up here. Should probably spend more time up here to fix it. Might take all winter. Oh well, he’ll see Aiden again one day. Probably. 

“I was wrong,” Vesemir rasps, and that pronouncement causes Lambert to whirl back around despite himself. The old coot has never admitted he was wrong in all the miserable decades Lambert’s known him. Vesemir’s hands are braced at the edge of the rampart as he looks down at where Marya is barking orders at Leon. Poor mate is still figuring out how to use a bow. “I was wrong about a lot of things Lambert.” Lambert gulps as eyes that hold centuries of sorrow turn to him. “I never expected that people like us could find love. Thought it best to disabuse you of such notions young so you wouldn’t get your heart broken.” 

Lambert laughs bitterly. “Oh don’t worry, my heart was already ripped outta my chest by the bastard I called father.” Vesemir’s shoulders slump, and fuck, Lambert’s never seen the old man look so small. He was larger than life in Lambert’s eyes as a child, this intimidating and strict witcher who could beat his arse and wipe his tears in the same day.

“You’ve been through enough pain and heartbreak to last over a lifetime Lambert,” Vesemir says quietly, head bowed. “What’s wrong with allowing yourself this happiness?”

“Because it never fucking lasts, does it?!” Lambert explodes, jumping up in a fit of blinding fury and leaving Dandelion to yowl with displeasure. Lambert looms over Vesemir, frame shaking as he clenches his fists. _“Good things don’t happen to people like me,”_ Lambert says lowly. “So why should I get used to it?” 

Vesemir unfolds, rising to his full height to peer at Lambert with kind eyes and _fuck him_ for that. “They can if you allow it,” he says gently. And Lambert just- _shatters._

The fight sucks out of him and Lambert takes in a shaky breath as Vesemir draws him into a sturdy embrace. Fuck, since when was he so damn _weak?_

“I can’t,” is all he’s able to choke out as he burrows into the scent of books and safety. Why doesn’t Vesemir get it? If Lambert gets complacent and actually gets _used_ to having Aiden around, then when the dumb Cat dies from another assassination attempt or a fucking kikimora ambush what the fuck will Lambert do with himself? 

A rough hand combs through his hair. “Life is miserable enough without depriving yourself of things that can cause you joy and comfort,” Vesemir rumbles in his ear. “Any one of us can drop dead tomorrow.” And fuck him for seeing right into Lambert’s heart. “The world is dark and cruel and full of people and things that wanna kill you. Sometimes the bravest thing to do is let yourself love despite it all.” 

Lambert’s legs crumple but those stolid arms keep him upright. “I can’t survive it if he dies,” he rasps.

“Good thing he’s got you.” Lambert blinks, pulling back slightly. Since when is anyone lucky to have him? Vesemir looks at him with a soft smile, smoothing out the decades of hardship carved in his face. “That man would be dead two times over _at least_ if you weren’t watching his back. Seems to me he has a higher likelihood of surviving with you by his side.” 

Well. Fuck.

Vesemir’s words don’t completely ease the sickening curdle of dread and terror in his gut, but they certainly lessen it. And now Lambert has a driving urge to race back to Aiden and snatch that dagger from his hands before he can change his mind and pin him to the bed until Aiden promises never to leave him. Ugh, fuck these bloody emotions. Lambert was perfectly content with being made up of 50% anger and 50% spite. Groaning, Lambert starts stomping across the rampart. “Going somewhere?” Vesemir calls out amusedly. 

“Yeah, to lecture a Cat about proper previewing before making grand gestures,” he grumbles, and Lambert can _feel_ Vesemir’s satisfied smirk, the arsehole. 

*******

Lil Bleater has spent many light and dark times with other members of his herd and he misses papa bleater and cuddly predator. Lil Bleater finds cuddly predator sitting in papa bleater’s lap in a place full of trees that are not trees while papa bleater holds something that smells like a tree. Perfect. Lil Bleater climbs onto cuddly predator and bleats happily when he gets scratches. But papa bleater's hands are full with the tree thing. Well that just won't do. Lil Bleater butts his head hard against the tree that is not a tree until it falls to the ground. Better. Tucking himself under cuddly predator's fur that does not feel like fur, Lil Bleater closes his eyes as papa bleater joins in for some scratches. Surrounded by the scent of herd, Lil Bleater falls asleep. 

Dandelion is very mad at wild one. How dare he throw Dandelion off his lap when expected to be petting him! Dandelion will show him! Dandelion finds wild one in two-legged littermate's lap. Two-legged littermate is giving wild one pets which does not seem fair to Dandelion. Dandelion sticks up his nose and shows wild one his behind before settling onto two-legged littermate’s shoulder. Two-legged littermate knows better than to stand when Dandelion is resting on him. Wild one places his hand on Dandelion but Dandelion hisses and scratches at him. The two humans talk to each other while two-legged littermate gives pets. When wild one’s hand comes near Dandelion again this time it holds a treat. Dandelion’s eyes narrow. Hmm. Dandelion supposes he can forgive wild one this once but he better not do it again. Taking the offering Dandelion butts his head against wild one and sprawls into his lap. Wild one pets Dandelion gently and two-legged littermate joins in. Yes, Dandelion deserves all the pets after being treated so rudely.

Alloy finds soft one sitting all alone outside during the dark time, which is strange. Usually soft one is with his litter during the dark time. Soft one looks like he could use a soft one of his own. Alloy daintily climbs into soft one's lap and nudges at soft one’s hand. Soft one blinks down at Alloy and doesn’t pet him, which is surprising. But after Alloy gives an impatient meow, soft one starts to pet her. That’s good. No one should be alone, especially when they have a litter.

Biscuit is curled up next to mama Biscuit and noisy one. Mama biscuit says that noisy one’s name is noisy one but Biscuit doesn’t know why. Noisy one doesn’t make a lot of noise, especially when he is on four legs like now. Biscuit likes noisy one. She was surprised to see him though because he doesn’t usually visit her during the dark time. Mama Biscuit says that there’s another place where the rest of the herd stays during the dark time. Biscuit doesn’t know why noisy one who-isn’t-so-noisy wouldn’t be with the rest of his herd but Biscuit doesn’t speak predator so she can’t ask. Oh well. Biscuit lays her head on top of noisy one who-isn’t-so-noisy and scoots closer. Noisy one who-isn’t-so-noisy is shaking which is confusing because he has fur. Well, Biscuit will just have to share some of hers to warm him up. It’s a good thing noisy one who-isn’t-so-noisy has a herd to look after him.

*******

"What happened?" 

Geralt turns numbly to stare at Eskel who is wearing nothing but a tunic and some trousers. He shrugs stiffly. "Dunno. We were just cleaning up dinner and he bolted." Geralt's fingers tighten in Alloy's fur before relaxing them again. "When I checked on him he shrunk away from me so I'm giving him space." 

"Come inside. Join the rest of the pack." 

Geralt returns his gaze back to the stable. "Just want to keep an eye on him." 

Sighing, Eskel sits beside him. "I'll keep you company then." 

Geralt's shoulders rise defensively. "I don't need a nanny." 

Eskel looks at him with a soft smile. "No. You need a pack." Geralt blinks. As Eskel brings his arm around Geralt, he feels himself leaning against his brother ever so slightly. He resumes petting Alloy as Geralt breathes in that familiar scent of summer rain. Well, Geralt supposes he won't complain if he has some company. It's a cold night after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Animal POV key:
> 
>  **Geralt:** soft one, gentle one  
>  **Jaskier:** loud one, noisy one, nice predator 
> 
> **Lambert:** wild one, shouty one  
>  **Aiden:** two-legged littermate
> 
>  **Eskel:** strong one, papa bleater  
>  **Kamil:** quiet one, cuddly predator 
> 
> **Marya:** mama loud one, mama wolf  
>  **Vesemir:** papa soft one, papa wolf
> 
>  **Leon:** metal brother  
>  **Ewa:** fire one, metal sister, metal one  
>  **Ciri:** tall one, sister-who-smells-like-metal-sister, little one 
> 
> **Yennefer:** scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore  
>  **Coen:** large one
> 
>  **Dandelion:** littermate, older brother  
>  **Alloy:** littermate, older sister  
>  **Roach:** Mama Dandelion, Mama Biscuit  
>  **Biscuit:** little sister  
>  **Lil Bleater:** little brother


	3. There's Only Us, There's Only This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer refuses to bend. Geralt's cracks grow. Aiden is NOT jealous. Kamil and Aiden are good bros. The four leggeds shockingly continue to find somewhere soft to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank Locktea for the idea to include a key for the animal versions of everyone's names in the end note!
> 
> TW for brief mention of child abuse and torture. (There's a sharing and discussion of scars)

Yennefer blinks dubiously at the sunshine yellow flower resting atop her work station. Odd. With the first snow on the ground, finding any live flower is close to impossible. She looks at it contemplatively, trying to decide what to do with it. Eventually, Yennefer searches for her waterskin and a flask that holds her potions. Pouring the water into the container, Yennefer places the flower in it. 

Well, not the most beautiful set up but it certainly adds some light to this dreary keep. She turns back to her work.

The next day another flower appears, bright red this time. Without a second thought, Yennefer adds it to the flask. 

But then it keeps happening. At first Yennefer doesn't question it, too caught up in her work.

She’s in the middle of creating a calming draught for Jaskier when Yennefer freezes. Wait a second. There can only be one person who would be doing this. Oh _fuck_ no. 

Storming up to the Griffin as he reads in the library, Yennefer throws the flowers at his feet. “Thought I made myself clear. I’m not a delicate fucking flower.” 

Coën lifts his eyes from the book, glancing down at the flowers before pinning her with a benign gaze. “I never said you were, Lady Yennefer.” 

Yennefer scowls. “Just quit the bloody chivalrous act,” she snaps. “You wanna fuck me then fuck me; I don’t need to be bloody wooed.”

Rising to his full height, and fuck Yennefer forgot how tall he was, Coën clasps his hands behind his back. “You deserve to be addressed in terms of respect,” he affirms. “And I am not interested in just a quick fuck.” Yennefer simply blinks at him, a swirl of confused emotions clawing at her chest. 

“What do you want from me? Why do you-” Yennefer cuts herself off, hating how lost she feels.

“You intrigue me.”

Oh, of course that’s it. What man hasn’t looked at her and tried to claim her, to own her because he found her _interesting_? “Do I?” Yennefer utters darkly.

He only hums, studying the bookshelf beside him. “Across the Continent people speak your name with fear and awe both. Yet within these walls I’ve only ever heard your name said with fondness, only heard tales of your kindness and gentleness.” Bloody wolves ruining her reputation. Depthless eyes turn to hers. “I simply wish to get to know you for myself." When Yennefer doesn’t speak, he shrugs casually. “I wanted to stroll through Vesemir’s greenhouse today. I could use some company.”

Yennefer opens her mouth to tell the bloody witcher exactly where he can shove it but finds that no sound comes out. Instead, she is thrown unwittingly back to decades past, when she and Istredd would walk through gardens together while the mage would weave tales of magic and power beyond Yennefer’s imaginings. She was young and desperate and he was like a guiding light in the darkness of her existence. Yet his words that cut like the sharpest of swords still echo in her mind. _“No amount of power or beauty will make you feel worthy of either.”_ _”I’m sorry you chose power.”_ _"What do you want?"_

What does she want now? She’s spent decades using people and being used in return. She’s spent years watching the man she is bound to by a fool’s wish soften and learn to love. She’s spent a lifetime with a gaping hole in her chest that she has ached to have filled. And here is a man before her, rough and regal, offering himself up so easily. Is it that simple? Does she dare to accept? Is she strong enough to bare her heart again? 

But then what’s the alternative? An eternity watching those around her revel in their love while she remains alone? 

Yennefer meets those eyes, so soft despite their odd coloring. “I don’t need to be bloody courted to be fucked,” she declares before hesitating. “But there are some flowers I could use in my potions.” When Coën smiles, it’s with his whole face, cheeks lifting and eyes scrunching. Yennefer swallows. She’s not willing to give out her heart again, but the company could be nice. 

*******

Geralt and Jaskier are hunting together in an attempt for some normalcy. It’s been a strained few months but Geralt has been doing everything he can to help his mate heal. After the incident with Aiden, Jaskier was hesitant to hunt again but Geralt encouraged him to go, citing the kikimora as an anomaly since most monsters are hiding away once winter hits. And Jaskier derives so much joy from hunting, Geralt didn’t want it ruined from one incident. Besides, having Jaskier trot by his side again is a slight balm to the ache in his heart.

With the first storm, the pass is officially closed and it would have been more difficult to hunt if they didn’t have some wolves on hand. Geralt supposes he could be shifted now as well but he can’t risk it. If something were to happen to Jaskier he needs to have access to his weapons and magic. Geralt pauses in his trek so he can kneel down and examine some animal tracks in the snow. Having a sense of where they can find a rabbit burrow, Geralt looks up to tell Jaskier only to find no one beside him. Geralt’s heart turns to ice. Not again. 

Bolting up, Geralt activates his enhanced senses and crashes through the woods, bellowing Jaskier’s name. The trail brings him to a clearing and Geralt has his sword out and ready only to find Jaskier chasing after a fleeing rabbit. Geralt collapses to his knees, heart pounding too fast, head spinning, vision blurring. He’s okay. He’s okay? He’s okay. Is he okay? Geralt stumbles back to his feet to check that Jaskier doesn’t have any injuries when the shifter turns to look at him. As he bounds toward the witcher Geralt falls to his knees once again and wraps his arms around his mate. He can feel himself trembling and curses his body for betraying him like this. 

When the creature beneath him shifts and morphs, Geralt flounders in an attempt to continue holding him before he finds himself staring up into a human face. “Breathe for me my love,” Jaskier murmurs, brow furrowed as he rubs a thumb along Geralt’s cheek. Why is Jaskier worried about Geralt’s breathing? Geralt should be checking for Jaskier’s breathing. So much could have happened while they were apart. As Geralt fumbles to feel Jaskier’s pulse and slumps when it sounds steady and strong, familiar fingers lift up his chin so Geralt can look into worried blue eyes. “What’s wrong my darling?” 

Geralt looks at him wildly, clutching the shifter’s shoulders. “You were gone,” he croaks. Jaskier’s eyes widen and he draws Geralt closer to his chest. The witcher buries his face into Jaskier’s neck, desperately breathing in his honey and pine scent. He doesn’t carry that sour smell of fear, just a light pepper of worry. No rotten scent of pain either, thank fuck. 

“I’m so sorry Geralt,” Jaskier whispers brokenly. “I wasn’t even thinking when I bolted off.” 

“It’s not like I’ve needed you to warn me before,” Geralt mumbles, cringing at how pathetic he must seem.

Jaskier tightens his arms around Geralt and he finds himself sinking into the embrace. “Yes, but perhaps I should now,” Jaskier muses. Geralt only burrows further despite the distant knowledge that Jaskier is naked in the snow. They should get somewhere warm but Geralt just needs a bit longer to convince himself that Jaskier is really here, that he’s really okay. This was too similar to when Jaskier was taken; going on a hunt and looking for Jaskier only to find him gone. Geralt takes a few slow breaths. He got Jaskier back. Jaskier is safe. He’s okay. They’re okay. 

In retrospect, maybe hunting wasn't such a great idea. Sparring might've been better. 

*******

“Wanna spar Lam?” The Griffin rumbles as he strolls up to where Aiden and Lambert are mending a wall. Aiden glares at Coën and turns to grasp Lambert’s shoulder. It’s not that he’s jealous; please, he’s far too sensible for something so childish. No, it’s just that stupid throwaway line Lambert made last year about replacing Aiden with that Griffin. Aiden knows it was said in jest and to get a rise out of him but seeing the Griffin in person just sets Aiden’s teeth on edge. It’s not jealousy though, just simple irritation.

Lambert glances between the two as Aiden glowers at Coën while the Griffin looks back with passive amusement. The Wolf rolls his eyes, flipping the dagger Aiden gifted him with one hand. Just seeing those solid hands grasp around the sleek handle Aiden labored to mold sends a possessive shudder through his spine. Lambert must see something in his eyes because he leans into Aiden's grasp and shoots Coën a self-satisfied smirk. “Maybe another time Coën. I bet Eskel could use some practice though, the lazy shit.” As Coën nods and walks away, Lambert watches him go. “Yeah you’re definitely not jealous,” Lambert mutters, sending Aiden some side eye. 

“Watch it kitten,” Aiden hums. 

“Or what?” Lambert challenges with a scornful sneer. Ah, so he’s in one of those moods. Lovely. Aiden leans against the wall as he daydreams about what he’ll do to the brat once they’re in private. Gods, what this man does to Aiden. Makes him lose his composure, his carefully cultivated control, his bloody _mind._

While Lambert continues to flip his knife and attempt various spins and tricks as he does so, Aiden watches with lazy amusement. The only time he’s witnessed his kitten actually stay still is when he’s under Aiden’s hand. It’s intoxicating, the power Lambert cedes to Aiden so freely from just a brush of a palm behind his neck or a simple kiss. But that’s not what drew Aiden to Lambert at first, no. When he first met the hot-headed Wolf who buries his heart of gold under insults and attitude, Aiden knew he wanted him. Wanted to peel back every layer of bluster, of defense, of insecurity, to reach the man beneath it all. And with each hidden part of the Wolf Aiden encounters, he falls that more deeply in love. 

People think Aiden's mad to attach himself to Lambert, but that’s because they don’t see past the exterior. They see the abrasive attitude and ornery personality and assume that’s who he is. No, that's just Lambert’s armor. And Aiden has the privilege to peel it all off. Lambert pauses as he’s about to do a flip and narrows his eyes. “You’re leering at me again.” 

“Can you blame me?” Aiden asks innocently, sauntering over to tilt Lambert’s chin towards him. “I’m going to take you apart tonight kitten,” Aiden croons, smirking as Lambert shudders and subtly shifts closer.

“Promise?” he breathes, eyelids growing heavy. 

Aiden shoots him a sharp-toothed smile. “Oh yes, I’m gonna make it so you don’t even remember that Griffin’s name.”

A hot pulse of _something_ rushes through Aiden when Lambert chuckles lowly. “Jealous Cat.” 

Gripping Lambert’s hair he growls, “Bratty Wolf.” 

He’s answered with a lazy smirk and hazy eyes. “You love it.”

Pressing them together Aiden murmurs, “I love _you,”_ and oh, how he revels in the way Lambert’s breath catches in his throat and his lashes flutter ever so slightly at that pronouncement. As certain as Aiden was that Lambert would run when he showed the Wolf the dagger he made, Aiden was just as confident Lambert would return to him. And when Lambert stormed back into their room hours later, snatched the knife from the desk, and kissed Aiden fiercely without a word, Aiden had never been more happy to be right. He doesn't need Lambert to say the words back for Aiden to know how the Wolf feels.

Unable to resist those parted lips, Aiden leans forward to claim them in a heated kiss, purring when it’s returned. He’d like to see that Griffin turn Lambert into the formless puddle he becomes under _Aiden’s_ hand. “Please Aiden,” Lambert breathes, rocking needily against him. 

“Patience kitten,” Aiden teases. Lifting the chin that’s slightly drooping Aiden purrs, “You can be good for me, can’t you love?” Aiden grins savagely at Lambert’s soft whimper. Oh yes, he’s going to make Lambert forget about _everyone_ but him tonight. 

Then again, tonight may be too far away. Perhaps an early start is necessary. 

*******

Kamil is heading to the springs with Eskel, Coën, and Leon when he hesitates. Though Jaskier refused to spar with them for some reason, he went through enough drills to work up a sweat as well but is now headed in the opposite direction of the baths. Smiling at Eskel to go ahead, Kamil jogs to catch up with Jaskier. “Wait up cuz,” he calls. Jaskier slows down to send Kamil a weak smile before continuing toward the dining hall. “Dunno if Marya is gonna let you near her biscuits with the way you smell,” Kamil comments lightly. Jaskier has been avoiding the springs for some reason and Kamil is determined to find out why. 

The bard flashes Kamil a grin too big to be real. “She would never bar her only son from biscuits!” he cries, clasping his heart exaggeratedly.

“Interesting, because I remember her doing just that last winter when you and Lambert worked together to steal a platter behind her back,” Kamil quips, studying Jaskier as they continue to walk side by side. Though the shifter is smiling, his eyes are downcast. Kamil takes a breath and curves so he’s standing in front of Jaskier. “Why don’t you go to the springs anymore?” he asks gently. 

Jaskier freezes in his tracks before rubbing his fingers over his neck. “I go in the springs. Maybe I just don’t wanna go with all of you,” Jaskier protests weakly. 

“Why not?” 

Jaskier glares at Kamil, crossing his arms as he shrinks within himself. “My business is my business.” 

The fox shifter raises his hands defensively. “You’re absolutely right; I just remember how lonely it is going into the springs alone instead of with your pack. Don’t you miss it?” Jaskier’s face grows shadowed and Kamil knows that he hit a nerve. Jaskier needs his pack but he’s still so skittish to be near them, moreso since he accidentally attacked Aiden. He’s been avoiding the Cat like the plague since that incident a few days ago. But his aversion to bathe publicly is another matter entirely, Kamil is sure of it. After all, it's no coincidence that Jaskier suddenly only shifts back to human in private, when before he had no problem standing bare in front of the whole keep as he slipped on whoever's tunic was thrown in his face at any given moment.

Expression hardening Jaskier retorts, “Who are you to call me out on wanting to bathe alone?” Kamil winces. Well, he should have expected that. 

Scanning the open courtyard they’re standing in, Kamil turns to Jaskier, feeling small and vulnerable. “Can we continue this conversation somewhere private?” A flash of confusion crosses Jaskier’s face before he shrugs indifferently. Smiling weakly, Kamil leads Jaskier to his and Eskel’s room. Once there, he curls up in a wide chair while Jaskier leans against the wall.

Needing to do something with his hands, Kamil picks up the arrow he had been working on earlier. He works in silence, mixing his paste to glue on the fletchings. Remaining fixed on his work Kamil murmurs, “I know what it’s like to be ashamed of your skin.” Out of the corner of his eye, Kamil sees Jaskier flinch. He knew it. Jaskier may not be forthcoming with the details of his time under that monster, but you don’t have the emotional scars he carries without some physical ones too. Even with Yennefer’s healing capabilities, there is only so much one can do, Kamil knows from personal experience. 

Taking a breath, Kamil sets aside his work and pulls off his tunic. “Have you wondered where I got these scars?” he asks, gesturing at his chest and the twisted lines crossing it. 

Jaskier glances up from where he’s studying the ground before looking away again. “Your business is your business,” he whispers. Kamil nods. True, but Jaskier needs an ally right now. The scars that the witchers carry are expected; it’s part of the job description. But for a bard like Jaskier, it’s common for him to have and flaunt flawless skin; Kamil has seen how open and low he tends to wear his doublet and chemise. That hasn't been the case this winter though. 

Kamil picks up the arrow he had been working on again, testing that the fletchings are secure before moving to another one. “The pain and torment you experienced is unique, but one thing we have in common is finding ourselves trapped in a body we did not choose.” Kamil gathers his strength before looking into Jaskier’s downcast face. “I was born a woman,” he says bluntly. “And I knew as a child that the gods gave me the wrong body.” Jaskier whips his head up, eyes and mouth wide with shock. Taking a shaky breath, Kamil raises his bare arm to show burn scars peppering his skin. “My father disagreed. 

”I never joined the spring with you all the first winter because I was ashamed. Ashamed to show my scars and ashamed to bare the body I knew was not mine.” Kamil traces fingers down his flat chest. “When Yennefer fulfilled a wish I never believed could possibly be granted, I vowed to flaunt these scars whenever I could. Because they show my survival, they show that I proved that bastard wrong.” 

Standing up, Kamil walks towards Jaskier, bringing his hands close to the hem of the other shifter’s furs before hesitating and flicking his gaze up for permission. When he gets a faint nod, Kamil slowly removes Jaskier's layers until the hunter reaches bare skin. He pauses, breath caught in his throat. Thin, jagged lines interrupted by knots of poorly healed scar tissue cross his entire torso. Kamil can imagine that Jaskier’s back is in a similar state. Glancing up at Jaskier for consent as he reaches out, Kamil gently traces the path of one scar across Jaskier’s heart, over his sternum, and on towards his belly button. As he does, Jaskier shivers minutely, but when he looks back up, Jaskier gives another miniscule nod. Kamil follows another scar that winds around Jaskier’s waist and up towards his chest. He stops to press his hand against Jaskier’s heart. 

Gazing into lost blue eyes Kamil says firmly, “These are signs of your survival Jaskier. These are proof that he _didn’t win.”_ Wordlessly, Jaskier crumples into Kamil’s arms, and the fox shifter gently catches him, cradling his shaking cousin’s neck and murmuring into his ear. “We can wear our scars with pride, Jaskier, you and me. What do you say cuz?” 

Jaskier buries his face in Kamil’s neck, steadily breathing in the scent the hunter knows is calming for the other shifter. After a long moment, Jaskier pulls slightly away before pressing their foreheads together. “Can we start with it being just you and me in the springs?” he whispers, closing his eyes tightly. Stroking a hand through Jaskier’s hair Kamil responds softly, “Anything for you my cousin.” 

*******

“Is Kamil alright?” Leon asks from where he lounges in the springs, raising a brow at Eskel. To say that sharing a bath with two witchers in a hidden keep in the mountains is surreal would be an understatement. When Leon came here last winter to try to reconcile with Ewa, he never would have imagined the warmth and love that would greet him and pervade every inch of this ancient fortress. He still has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that the pack of the woman he threatened to kill welcomed him with open arms, but he’s not going to question it. 

Eskel hums. “I think he wanted to talk to Jaskier about something.” Leon nods solemnly. He only knew Jaskier for less than a year but even _he_ has been feeling bereft without the light and song the bard usually spreads through the keep.

“May I ask how Kaer Morhen has managed to gain two blacksmiths for their winters?” the Griffin asks from across the pool. 

Leon gulps. He’s barely spoken three words to the intimidating-looking witcher, spending most of his time practicing archery with Kamil and Marya, reading with Kamil and Eskel, or working in the forge. “Ciri is in a relationship with my sister and I may or may not have threatened to kill Ciri last Autumn which culminated in Jaskier inexplicably inviting me to the keep?” he rushes out apprehensively. 

Coën releases a rumbling laugh. “Sounds like our bardling.”

“How do you know everyone here?” Leon finds himself asking. Coën sprawls an arm across the edge of the spring. “I helped Ciri train when she was a youngin, visited on and off through the years.” Raising an eyebrow to Eskel he adds, “Seems like I missed quite a lot since last time I was here.” 

Chuckling, Eskel works to soap up his hair. “Yeah Geralt turning into a shifter was a bit of a shock.” 

“That’s not what I was referring to.” Eskel and Leon shoot Coën matching inquiring looks. Suddenly the larger witcher looks rather vulnerable, rather...human. He trails a lazy finger through the water, staring at it intently as he mumbles, “You’ve found love. All of you.” Leon feels a familiar twist in his heart. Yes, how lucky for them all. 

Despite Leon’s best attempts, he’s never managed to keep a lover for too long once they learn he doesn’t wish to bed them. What’s wrong with simply holding your lover close, feeling their heart beat as you savor each other’s company without the need for anything more? Leon has tried it all, and in his opinion being twined together until you are unsure where one of you begins and the other ends is far more intimate than thrusting one of your body parts into theirs. 

Shaking his head to clear his dour thoughts, Leon watches with interest as Eskel shoots Coën a shit-eating grin. “You sure you don’t want me to throw in a good word for you?” Eskel teases, and from Coën's red ears Leon has clearly missed something. 

Lifting himself upright from the slouch he had fallen into Coën replies firmly, “I assure you, I wish for no help with my courtship of Yennefer. If I am to earn her favor, I must do it on my own.” Leon’s eyes widen. This mild-mannered witcher wants to court that terrifying sorceress? Good fucking luck with that mate. He might as well try to win Lambert's hand. At least that may be a less painful death. 

*******

“Alright Jaskier, close your eyes.” Eyeing Aiden dubiously, Jaskier does as he is told. He had been avoiding Aiden since the hunting debacle but the Cat cornered him with a determined glint in his eye this afternoon. Jaskier has witnessed Lambert being dragged down the hall by his ear enough to know not to brush off that look. Since whatever Stregobor injected him with seems to act in a similar way as the Cat’s mutations, Aiden offered to share some of his techniques with Jaskier, despite the shifter feeling undeserving of such kindness. 

“Now when I have an episode, it’s like my mind blanks out and all I can think about is the kill. Is that similar to what you’ve experienced?” Jaskier gulps, then nods. Aiden grunts, leaning forward and rubbing his hands together. Jaskier tightens his grip around Geralt's fur. His weight over Jaskier's legs and soothing rumble is the only reason he hasn't bolted yet. “Alright. So what we’re going to do is build a house of calm. That way, when you find yourself slipping or need to center yourself for whatever reason, you can enter your house.” Jaskier feels a ghost of a smile cross his face. Huh. He likes that idea. “Now, think about what makes you happy.”

Flashes of images cross Jaskier’s mind without a thought: playing with Dandelion, running through the woods on four legs, holding Ciri, curling up with his pack members, playing his lute, singing on the Path, and Geralt, Geralt, Geralt. “You have it?” Aiden’s voice sounds far away as Jaskier allows the countless memories of joy and safety to wash over him. He nods vaguely. “Good. Now visualize a house to store these happy things in. How big is it? What color is it? Are there flowers growing around it?” 

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut but he can’t get a grasp on a solid image. Well, he can, but it’s not a house. Blinking to look at Aiden Jaskier asks, “Is it okay if it’s just a room instead?” 

At Aiden’s smile and nod, Jaskier closes his eyes again and is transported to their den. “Are you in the room?” Jaskier nods. “Good. Now I want you to find or form an object in that room for everything that makes you happy. Can you do that?” 

Taking a steady breath, Jaskier imagines himself opening up a book on hunting and places a memory of Kamil and Eskel curled up and reading together in it. Putting the text reverently down, Jaskier picks up a dagger, pouring Lambert’s failed attempts at juggling knives with Aiden laughing beside him into it. Yennefer’s dry humor and concern she tries to hide in those purple eyes is placed in a violet gemstone. He moves on to the hearth, and there lies Ewa and Ciri singing together in the forge with Leon looking on with a grin while petting Alloy. 

The fur woven with Marya’s shedding carries memories of Marya braiding Vesemir’s hair as the witcher closes his eyes with a content smile. A ball holds the games of fetch Jaskier, Marya, Kamil, and Geralt have engaged in. A plate of biscuits represents the countless nights from when he was a child until now he's spent by Marya’s feet as his mother soothed his fears, told him tales, ran with him wildly through the woods, and held him so he wouldn’t fall apart. Jaskier places his wrestling matches with Dandelion and his hours talking and curled up to Roach and Biscuit into a carving of a horse and cat. And after a brief hesitation, Jaskier places his lute beside the carving. He misses singing and playing. Maybe he’ll try to pick it up again soon. 

That just leaves Geralt. But what memory can Jaskier choose? What object can Jaskier create to encompass the love he holds for his mate? Unable to select just one, Jaskier places his memories of their sparring sessions and Geralt protecting him and those who need it into his twin swords, adds the countless times Jaskier braided Geralt’s hair into a bed of flowers, inserts a memory of Geralt sketching into a notebook, and pours his adoration and love and affection for his mate into the self-portrait Jaskier bullied Geralt into drawing of himself one day. Scanning the room brimming with memories, images, and symbols of the love and joy in Jaskier’s life, Jaskier gently closes the door before blinking open his eyes to discover that his cheeks are wet. Aiden smiles softly at him as Jaskier tries to regain his composure, stroking a hand through Geralt's fur as the witcher peers up at him worriedly. “You okay?” 

Jaskier takes a shaky breath, eyes glowing as he feels lighter than he has in months. “Yeah, I really think I am.” 

*******

Dandelion is happy. Loud one who-is-not-so-loud has been joining the litter during the dark time more. Right now loud one is curled up with wild one and two legged littermate. Dandelion is considering who to cuddle when he notices large one and scary one. He had never met large one before but large one gives good pets. Large one and scary one just entered and sat away from each other, which doesn't make sense because they are the only humans not cuddled with another human. Dandelion would give them cuddles but he can’t choose one over the other because everyone needs cuddles. Making up his mind, Dandelion walks up to scary one who-is-really-not-so-scary anymore. When she gives him pets, Dandelion nudges her towards towards large one. But she doesn’t move. If only Dandelion could speak human! And if only humans were as smart as four leggeds. Grabbing some of scary one who-is-not-so-scary anymore’s fur, Dandelion walks backwards, tugging her toward large one. Finally, saying things in two legged, scary one who-is-not-so-scary anymore follows Dandelion to large one. Dandelion plops between them with a satisfied rumble. Good, now he has more hands to pet him. It’s hard work being a four legged.

Alloy spent a fun light time playing with little sister and little brother and now she’s very sleepy. She’s trying to decide who will be the fluffiest and cuddliest to sleep on though and is stuck between soft one and mama loud one. When soft one scoots closer to mama loud one and mama loud one grooms soft one, Alloy makes up her mind. Climbing over and around the rest of the litter, Alloy settles on top of mama loud one. Soft one snuffles in her ear and Alloy daintily grooms his muzzle because these four leggeds have no clue how to tend to themselves. Soft one lays his head on top of mama loud one’s back so Alloy shifts her position until she’s next to soft one’s head. Perfect amount of fluffy and cuddly. Alloy will have a good sleep this dark time. 

Lil Bleater hasn’t spent too much time with papa wolf and that has to change. Papa wolf is next to mama wolf and papa bleater and metal one, but Lil Bleater walks right past papa bleater. Papa bleater gets to cuddle Lil Bleater all dark and light times but not papa wolf. Lil Bleater bumps against papa wolf’s head over and over until he lifts his head to look at Lil Bleater. Lil Bleater bleats impatiently. Two hands lift Lil Bleater up until he stands on papa bleater’s chest. Better. Metal one reaches an arm from where she’s lying next to papa wolf and gives Lil Bleater scratches. Perfect. Lil Bleater settles comfortably on papa wolf's chest. It’s a good thing there are so many hands in this herd. That way someone can always give scratches.

Coën breathes carefully from where he and Yennefer are almost touching. Watching one of the Continent’s most powerful sorceresses be dragged across the room by an imperious cat is perhaps the funniest thing Coën has witnessed in his long life. His good humor faded rapidly however when the small creature led Yennefer straight to him. Gods, he’s having a hard enough time resisting the siren’s call of that lilac and gooseberry scent, of that wicked smirk and that sharp tongue. But he is determined. The woman who now strokes the small cat with a tiny smile on her face deserves to be treated properly, and Coën will be damned if he lets his cock talk for him, even as they seem to be prepared to be sleeping beside each other, which complicates things. Fuck. Well, worse comes to worse, there’s a mound of snow he can dive into outside. Coën swallows dryly as the collar of Yennefer's dressing gown slips off a shoulder and she flutters her eyes demurely at him. Fuck. He may need to investigate that snow mound sooner rather than later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take this moment to have a conversation with past Bedalk about what an idiotic idea it was to decide that since cats and horses are different species, they would have different names for the humans. Because it's led us to this particular hellscape: 
> 
> **Geralt:** soft one, gentle one  
>  **Jaskier:** loud one, noisy one, nice predator 
> 
> **Lambert:** wild one, shouty one  
>  **Aiden:** two-legged littermate
> 
>  **Eskel:** strong one, papa bleater  
>  **Kamil:** quiet one, cuddly predator 
> 
> **Marya:** mama loud one, mama wolf  
>  **Vesemir:** papa soft one, papa wolf
> 
>  **Leon:** metal brother  
>  **Ewa:** fire one, metal sister, metal one  
>  **Ciri:** tall one, sister-who-smells-like-metal-sister, little one 
> 
> **Yennefer:** scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore  
>  **Coen:** large one
> 
>  **Dandelion:** littermate, older brother  
>  **Alloy:** littermate, older sister  
>  **Roach:** Mama Dandelion, Mama Biscuit  
>  **Biscuit:** little sister  
>  **Lil Bleater:** little brother


	4. Forget Regret (Or Life is Yours to Miss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think Coën was the only one in this keep without trauma, did you? Meanwhile, Jaskier is slowly coming back to himself while Lambert shows some A+ character growth. To the shock of all, the four leggeds find soft places to rest once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has absolutely nothing to do with this chapter but follow this link because if these wolves aren't perfect reflections of the characters in this ridiculous AU I don't know what is. 
> 
> https://storlek.tumblr.com/post/176521196700/stephendann-words4bloghere-tealdeertamer
> 
> (There was supposed to be some Geralt/Jaskier shit in this chapter but _some_ people decided to start some drama instead. I'll make it up to you in next chapter.)

The Griffin School was a cold and barren place, where an emphasis on civility, chivalry, and survival did not make room for kindness. Unlike most boys, Coën remembers his family though, since he was taken by a witcher at an older age. He remembers his mother’s plump smile when she would kiss him to sleep, remembers his father’s full belly laugh as he ruffled Coën’s hair. When his body convulsed in agony and he felt the tendons in his throat tear from his screams, Coën held those images tightly in his mind, determined that even if the mutagens stripped him of his humanity, he would never forget how to be kind.

Kaer Morhen is nothing like the once immaculate and foreboding keep of the Griffins. Despite the crumbling walls and gray stones, there is a light and warmth that seeps through every crevice and corner. That’s why Coën always returns despite an instinct warning him off. He already lost one family, does he really want to risk losing another? Whether it’s weakness or strength, Coën doesn’t know, but he can’t stay away anymore. The Path is lonely enough during the rest of the year; staying huddled alone in the winters makes it doubly so. 

It was by some strange coincidence that Coën has never crossed paths with Yennefer of Vengerberg before, despite his hopes. Tales and whispers of the infamous sorceress had always enthralled Coën, especially in juxtaposition with the stories told at Kaer Morhen. Suffice to say, he had been eager to meet her.

Yennefer of Vengerberg is everything and nothing like Coën expected. Her raven black hair and glittering violet eyes are striking, and she moves with a fluidity and grace like no other. Her sharp tongue would seem to be in direct contrast with her beauty, if one didn’t notice those guarded eyes and tense shoulders. She reminds him a bit like Lambert, though Coën has no illusions about how quickly he would be disemboweled if he said as much to either party. But it’s true; both protect themselves like a porcupine, petrified of letting anyone past their sharp edges to see the softness beneath, for fear of being hurt. 

Coën understands; where they lash out with words, fists, or magic, Coën wraps himself in stiff cordiality and silence. It’s easier for him, though some may call Coën aloof. He finds it simpler to present a blank slate for others to paint their impressions on. People will see in him what they wish to, and Coën will gladly let them. It's less painful that way. Straightforward, simple, unemotional. Yet that’s exactly what intrigues him about Yennefer; she is a mess of contradictions: soft and sharp, cold and warm, kind and cruel. Coën wants to understand her, wants to slip past her defenses to reach the soft core that reveals itself when she’s near her family. It’s a good thing he’s a patient man. 

“I was lovers with a knight once,” Yennefer remarks casually from where she’s leaning down to sniff a chrysanthemum. Since his first offer, it’s become a bit of a routine for the two of them: a walk through Vesemir’s greenhouse where Coën can admire the beauty within while Yennefer can pretend to ignore him until she wishes to speak. 

The past two days had passed in tense silence so Coën is relieved to be given an opening. “I’ve heard knights are pompous arseholes who fall in love with their reflections,” Coën says mildly, studying the vines tangled to his right. 

A lilting laugh makes him turn back to Yennefer with wide eyes. What a most beautiful sound. Yennefer’s head is still angled down, hair cascading down her face, but a sly smile peeks through the strands. “You’re not wrong,” she reflects dryly. Plucking a flower and slipping it into her basket, Yennefer rises fully and turns to Coën. Having that piercing violet gaze on him as she stands regal as a queen in a silk black gown makes Coën feel weak in the knees. Dear Melitele, how he wants to kneel down before her and worship her as she deserves. 

He must have let something slip through his blank mask because Yennefer shoots him a smirk before swaying towards him. “Wasn’t too great of a fuck either,” she hums. Coën holds his breath as Yennefer pauses within a handbreadth of him. That enchanting perfume overtakes his senses and Coën’s eyes flutter slightly. “Would you be better I wonder?” she muses, eyes flashing in a challenge. Coën feels himself tilt slightly forward before catching himself and breaking that enthralling gaze. 

Taking a steady breath, Coën moves down the aisle of flowers. “I have not heard complaints before,” he responds when his back is to her and Coën feels like he won’t be tempted to fall to his knees then and there.

“If a bloody knight didn’t stand on ceremony why do you insist on doing so?” the exasperated voice calls from behind him. 

Knowing what will happen if he turns around, Coën studiously continues down the row of plants and herbs. “Because you deserve better my lady,” he grits out. Finally, Coën reaches some forget-me-nots and plants his hands on the counter to lean over them and collect himself. 

“Your school is sacked, it’s not like anyone will report you if you decide to fuck me.” 

Coën flinches at the callous words before taking a slow breath. “My school is not the one who taught me my values,” he says calmly. 

A long pause follows and that distinct lilac and gooseberry scent floats through the air as Yennefer settles across from him. “Oh?” she prompts, face crafted in a disinterested mask while he knows she is anything but. 

Coën closes his eyes and visualizes them again. Her auburn hair was always in a bun so she could keep it out of her face as she worked the dough. Her laughter was like a birdsong when he would wrap his arms around her and kiss her neck. They had met later in their lives when no one would have faulted him if he chose not to go through an entire courting process. Yet he still did, despite her protests that she would marry him if he only asked. Coën opens his eyes as their ghosts fade away. “My parents did,” he rasps, watching at how her face shutters at that pronouncement. “My father insisted on courting my mother, even though she protested he didn’t need to. I wish to continue that tradition.”

“How quaint of them,” Yennefer sneers. “And, what? Once they got bored of having a child they passed you off to the first witcher they found?” Coën flinches and looks away. Gods, she knows just what to say to make it hurt, doesn't she? But he knows why. Those possessing as much Chaos as she rarely have happy childhoods.

Coën forces himself to gaze at her as he speaks. “We were traveling for a festival. Didn’t see the wyvern fall from the sky until it was too late. Not like we could've done much anyway. The witcher that intervened looked at my parent’s corpses and offered to take me in.” The flash of guilt that races across Yennefer's face numbs some of the pain that thrums in his heart.

She opens her mouth in what Coën knows is an attempt to apologize, before shutting it and glancing away. “Well, I will not be so easily wooed as your mother was,” she says stiffly, walking away. Coën smiles softly. He doesn’t think she realizes it, but that’s the first Yennefer has indicated that she’s willing to be wooed at all. Coën calls that progress.

*******

“Coën’s doing _what?”_ Geralt croaks, hand frozen from where he was about to place down a Gwent card. Lambert smirks, tapping down on his Gwent deck smugly. 

“Oh my love even _I_ knew he was trying to woo our dear Yennefer and I’ve spent the majority of my time with Biscuit,” Jaskier exclaims from where he’s combing fingers through Eskel’s hair. Lambert grins at Songbird, relieved that he’s taking part in taunting the big oaf. Though Lambert may secretly in his deepest heart of hearts not _entirely_ loathe everyone who comes to this bloody keep, it’s nice to have it be just the four of them every now and then like it used to be. Kamil and Leon are doing some reading together, Aiden and Coën are off making nice on Lambert’s insistence, and the rest of them are probably sucking each other’s faces off while the witch does whatever witches do. 

“I think we can all agree that out of the four of us Geralt, you’re the densest one by far,” Lambert announces, shamelessly peering around at Geralt's hand. 

Nodding, Songbird rises to lean his arm on Lambert’s shoulder and smile mischievously down at him. “I’ve often remarked that our dear Geralt is denser than a lead weight that sinks to the bottom of the ocean. This is the man who failed to realize I had been flirting with him for a decade after all,” he quips lightly. Gods, Lambert missed that sparkle in those blue eyes.

“No, no, he’s denser than a giant boulder that’s been thrown into a pool of lava,” Lambert claims with a shit-eating grin. “Do you know Eskel had the biggest crush on him as kids and Geralt never even noticed?”

“I told you that in confidence,” Eskel says through gritted teeth, glaring at Lambert as his ears turn an adorable shade of pink. But they’re on a roll now. 

“I think he’s denser than a griffin lecturing on poetry. He once thought that a barmaid who had been flirting with him was actually flirting with me and calmly informed her I was taken. Poor girl looked baffled!” At this point Geralt has thrown down his Gwent cards and is glowering at the duo with his arms crossed, though the light in his eyes gives him away. Eskel is standing beside him, patting Geralt’s shoulder commiseratingly as he fights to hide a smile. 

Lambert’s grin grows as he continues to find increasingly more absurd similes and Jaskier tilts his head back and laughs. Gods, he missed that sound. 

“What seems to be so funny gentlemen?” Yennefer asks as she sweeps into the room in a flowing fur robe.

“We’re laughing at Geralt’s expense because he didn’t know that Coën is trying to woo you like a maiden in a romance,” Lambert chortles before freezing. Yennefer pierces him with a cold stare. Fuck, Coën had mentioned how sensitive she has been about the whole courtship bullshit. He idly wonders if she’ll let Lambert say goodbye to Aiden before eviscerating him when Yennefer floats towards him, head tilted consideringly. Lambert gulps. He doesn’t like that look. 

“Since you seem to enjoy sticking your nose in my personal business, perhaps I should make yours available to the public too, yes?” 

Lambert’s medallion vibrates as she waves a lazy hand and he _knows_ that whatever’s coming next is gonna fuck him over. “What did you-”

“Lambert what do you think of your brothers?” 

“They’re closer to me than blood and if anything happened to them I’d burn down the whole world. Eskel is the most thoughtful and kind man I’ve known and Geralt is dependable and steady and they both always have my back,” Lambert says smoothly before clamping his mouth shut, eyes widening. Wait, _what?_ He meant to say that they’re both lovesick puppies and can’t fight for shit.

“And how do you feel about me?” she asks with a bat of her eyes.

”You’re scary as shit and could turn me into a gnat with a wave of your fingers but you’re the reason Aiden’s alive and I can never thank you enough for that so if Coën can give you even a fraction of the happiness I derive from Aiden then I’ll be content.” If Lambert wasn’t flying into a complete and utter panic he would probably laugh at the look of shock crossing Yennefer’s face right now. Jumping up Lambert’s stutters out, “What the fuck did you do to me?” 

“You alright kitten?” Aiden asks as he and Coën walk in, brows furrowed with concern. Oh _fuck._

“I’m feeling a bit better now that you’re here because every time I’m near you all the shit in my head and all the rubbish in the world fades away and I can feel content and at peace and I think I love you and I’m gonna fucking kill a sorceress now.” With a snarl Lambert launches himself at Yennefer only to be held back by the traitors he calls brothers. “Let me go I’m only gonna punch her a coupala times,” Lambert protests, squirming against Eskel and Geralt’s arms. 

“Yennefer, undo it,” Geralt rumbles. The sorceress blinks at him before waving her hand.

“Lambert, how do you feel about me?” Eskel asks.

“That you’re a bag of shrivelled dicks I would gladly kick into the Yaruga, “ Lambert spits. Geralt and Eskel relax at his pronouncement just enough for him to elbow both of them in the face and wiggle out of their grasp. Instead of attacking the sorceress as planned however, Lambert finds himself racing out of there, barely noting how Aiden is still standing frozen in the entryway. He’s climbing up to those fucking ramparts and nothing anyone could say will ever convince him to come back down.

*******

Everyone in the dining hall stares at each other for a long moment once Lambert flees. “Well, fuck,” Jaskier finally remarks conversationally, moving to clean up the Gwent game.

“Would someone care to catch me up about what just happened?” Aiden asks in a strained voice, still standing in the entryway and looking one faint gust of wind away from falling. 

“Yennefer cast a truth spell on Lambert and he started expressing how much he actually cares about everyone and then flew into a blind panic,” Jaskier explains succinctly, attempting to pocket one of Geralt's cards only to be stopped by a hand on the wrist and a raised brow. Jaskier only grins up at his mate cheekily, cheering internally that he didn't jump at the unexpected touch. Geralt's eyes widen when he notices the same, smiling softly.

Aiden nods faintly. “Right. Yeah. Obviously.” He turns to Yennefer. “So everything he just said was the absolute truth?” 

Yennefer is standing in a slight daze as well. “Apparently,” she replies with a confused frown.

“Good to know, good to know,” Aiden says briskly. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go hunt down my betrothed before he flees to the other side of the Continent.” And with a firm nod to the room, Aiden turns on his heel and strides out.

Aiden knew that Lambert loved him. Of _course_ he knew. What he didn’t know is that there is apparently a huge fucking difference between knowing someone loves you in theory and having that person confess it out loud, even if it was technically under duress. Aiden is climbing Lambert’s favorite part of the ramparts, lost in thought over what to say in order to convince the skittish Wolf to show his face in public again while feeling like he's floating at the admission he had just been given. He only hopes Lambert is actually up here. Lambert doesn’t do verbal affection, so having words of love literally forced out of his mouth must have felt like a violation. Not to mention, Aiden doubts that Lambert ever acknowledged the things he said just now even to himself, so it could have been a shock to the poor emotionally suppressed man. 

Aiden finds Lambert hunched in his usual nook, which is encouraging. If Lambert didn’t want to be found he would have chosen another corner or worse. Silently, Aiden settles at enough of a distance for Lambert to feel like he’s not being crowded and then waits, studying the night sky. “You’re still a dickhead,” a weak voice says after several long minutes. 

Aiden’s lips twitch. “I never doubted that.” 

Wide shoulders curl in on themselves. “I don’t need you.” 

Aiden’s heart clenches. And isn’t that the most marvelous thing of all? To know you don't need each other to survive yet to choose to be with each other anyway? Though Aiden is less sure on his end that he doesn't need Lambert in more ways than one. “I know.” 

“I’m gonna kill that witch,” Lambert mumbles, head bowing low. 

“That may cause some awkwardness between you and Coën,” Aiden muses, even if he’s feeling slightly murdery himself. 

“Don’t care,” is the mulish response. Quiet falls again and Aiden watches Lambert shiver slightly. Fool ran out here in nothing but a thin tunic and some trousers. At least it's not in the middle of another blizzard like three winters ago.

“Can I come closer kitten?” Aiden asks. After a long moment he notes the tiny nod. Breathing out a silent sigh of relief, Aiden walks over until he’s wiggled into the nook as well so they are pressed tightly together. Aiden wraps his arms around the ball of Wolf, pressing a kiss to his head. “I love you kitten,” he murmurs into his ear, watching how Lambert leans closer in response. Aiden continues to hold Lambert tight, stroking a hand through his hair while the Wolf relaxes incrementally until he’s uncurled from the ball he found himself in. “There’s that handsome face,” Aiden says with a soft smile. 

Aiden is thankful for his sharper night vision so he can catch how Lambert’s ears pinken. “Yeah, well.” Lambert trails off, crossing his arms and looking off to the side. 

Lifting the Wolf’s chin with two fingers and turning him, Aiden studies hardened golden orbs and pursed lips as Lambert determinately avoids Aiden’s gaze. “Thank you for not running away again,” he eventually breathes, watching Lambert’s eyes widen and tense shoulders lower. Lambert has grown quite a lot in the two years they’ve been together, his panic-fueled escape attempts tapering off until they’re non-existent. Aiden was half-expecting tonight to bring them back to that routine though and feels a knot in his gut unfurl with the evidence before him that Lambert isn’t going anywhere. “Wanna stay up here for the night?” It’s far from ideal and Aiden’s back will hate him tomorrow, but he would do it for Lambert if he still needs space from the rest of the keep. When the Wolf shakes his head hesitantly, Aiden raises a brow. “Will there be a murder this evening?” 

Lambert scowls, and Aiden always finds it utterly adorable how the Wolf's nose scrunches up when he does that. “It was a dick move and I’m gonna make her life a living hell but you’re right, it would make things awkward with Coën if I killed her,” he grumbles begrudgingly. Aiden feels that familiar clench in his stomach at the mention of the Griffin's name but breathes through it. Having a chance to chat with just him was good for Aiden, gave him a chance to see how gone Coën is for Yennefer and how he views Lambert as a brother, not a lover. Not that Aiden was jealous of course. He doesn’t get jealous. 

*******

Alloy misses metal sister and metal brother but metal brother is sleeping with quiet one and strong one while metal sister is sleeping with sister-who-smells-like-metal-sister and soft one. How does Alloy choose? Alloy sits between the two piles and looks back and forth back and forth when she finds herself turning into a bird. She tries running away but her paws won’t touch anything. Turning her head, Alloy realises it’s because loud one who-is-not-so-loud is carrying her by the scruff like a kitten. When he plops her onto sister-who-smells-like-metal-sister and lays down next to her, Alloy blinks. Well, this works she supposes. She can cuddle metal brother next dark time then. And purring as metal sister and sister-who-smells-like-metal-sister give her pets, Alloy drifts off to sleep.

Lil Bleater stares up at big hill. Lil Bleater is good at climbing big hills. Lil Bleater wants to climb this hill. With a determined bleat, Lil Bleater begins clambering up big hill but soon big hill shrinks. Blinking, Lil Bleater realises it’s because big hill is sitting down. What? Does big hill think Lil Bleater cannot climb? So rude! Lil Bleater is about to bite big hill when big hands pet Lil Bleater. Lil Bleater closes his mouth. He’ll just have to show big hill how skillful Lil Bleater is at climbing next light time. For now, big hill makes a very good napping place so Lil Bleater lies down and closes his eyes. 

Dandelion came to a horrible realisation. Two legged littermate has not been doing his job! He has not been providing for wild one! How has wild one been surviving all on his own?? No matter, Dandelion is a Good Cat and will fix this. It takes Dandelion a long time to hunt because it’s the cold time and dark time but eventually he’s successful. Lots of food in this tall rock place. Dandelion gently places the mouse on wild one’s face. There. Wild one will have something to eat now. Dandelion is a Good Cat. Yawning, Dandelion crawls onto quiet one. Dandelion has so many Important Jobs.

”Aiden,” Lambert says calmly. “Why the fuck did the cat just give me a dead mouse?” 

Yawning and nuzzling Lambert’s neck Aiden mumbles, “Probably ‘cause he knows I’m a littermate and can fend for myself.” Lambert’s ensuing sputtering is not at all flattering but very necessary. Flopping a loose hand over Lambert’s face Aiden yawns again. “Sleep kitten. We can have it for breakfast tomorrow.” And having absolutely no response to that, Lambert slides out from under Aiden’s sprawling limbs and delicately places the mouse on Yennefer’s face from where she’s sleeping on Jaskier. Yes, revenge is sweet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to **CatsAreMyWorld** for giving me the inspiration to return to the "Geralt is dense as a lead weight" conversation and to **BookSmartMione** for the idea that Lambert is slipped something that causes him to confess how much he actually cares about everyone. And to whoever gave me the idea of Dandelion giving Lambert and not Aiden a mouse because Aiden's a cat. I can't find your comment but if you're reading this, let me know so I can credit you!
> 
>  **Geralt:** soft one, gentle one  
>  **Jaskier:** loud one, noisy one, nice predator 
> 
> **Lambert:** wild one, shouty one  
>  **Aiden:** two-legged littermate
> 
>  **Eskel:** strong one, papa bleater  
>  **Kamil:** quiet one, cuddly predator 
> 
> **Marya:** mama loud one, mama wolf  
>  **Vesemir:** papa soft one, papa wolf
> 
>  **Leon:** metal brother  
>  **Ewa:** fire one, metal sister, metal one  
>  **Ciri:** tall one, sister-who-smells-like-metal-sister, little one 
> 
> **Yennefer:** scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore  
>  **Coen:** large one, big hill
> 
>  **Dandelion:** littermate, older brother  
>  **Alloy:** littermate, older sister  
>  **Roach:** Mama Dandelion, Mama Biscuit  
>  **Biscuit:** little sister  
>  **Lil Bleater:** little brother


	5. No Other Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambert's death seem imminent. Lil Bleater makes an appearance during breakfast. If Geralt keeps saying sappy shit he'll lose his street cred. Shock and surprise, the four leggeds stumble upon some open and willing laps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the delayed chapter my dear readers! Deadlines and commitments have snuck up on me and it’s very possible I won’t get another chapter out this weekend unfortunately. To make up for that and the lack of Geralt/Jaskier content in previous chapter(s), have a chapter entirely in Geralt’s POV featuring our soft boys talking and snuggling.

The keep is woken up by a scream. Rolling to his feet with a disoriented rumble, Geralt blinks tired eyes open while outraged yowls and bleats sound through the den as the animals’ beds move suddenly. A menagerie of armed and fanged creatures turn to find Yennefer glaring holes at what looks like a dead mouse lying on the ground. Purple eyes scan the den and Geralt is forced to recall that this is the same sorceress who burned down the fields of Sodden. “Who. The fuck. Placed a _dead mouse_ on my _bloody face?!”_ she snarls.

All eyes turn to Lambert who is lounging against Aiden’s chest and lazily flipping a knife whilst wearing a very smug smirk. When he finds everyone staring at him, Lambert raises a brow. “Are you all genuinely suggesting that I snuck out in the middle of the night and hunted a fucking mouse just to fuck with the witch? Does that honestly sound like me?” As the rest of the pack nods Lambert sputters indignantly. 

Geralt watches with amusement as Dandelion carefully picks up the discarded mouse before carrying it over to Lambert and dropping it in his lap. Plopping down to gaze up at the Wolf expectedly, Dandelion releases an encouraging meow. “Why does your cat think I want a dead mouse?” Lambert growls, turning a glower onto Geralt. Considering he was still currently a wolf, Geralt simply blinks placidly back at Lambert. Of course, Geralt knew _exactly_ why Dandelion would give one person a dead mouse and not others, but Geralt wasn’t about to admit how he learned that information. 

Yennefer stalks towards Lambert with murder in her eyes and lightening sparking from her fingers but Aiden deftly slides between them. “Considering Lambert didn’t kill you for the stunt you pulled yesterday, I think you can offer the same courtesy to him with this matter, yes?” he suggests calmly, hands raised in a placating manner.

“Dead. Mouse. On. My. Face,” Yennefer hisses.

“Truth spell. Against his will,” Aiden retorts, amber eyes flashing. Geralt tenses. It’s only the new knowledge of Aiden’s “house of calm” that is keeping Geralt from jumping on the Cat before he potentially snaps. The stand off continues for a prolonged moment, Lambert and Coën hovering behind Aiden and Yennefer like they’re prepared to grab their significant others if necessary. 

Fuck, how did Geralt miss what was going on between Yennefer and Coën? Worry over Yennefer that had been sitting in Geralt’s gut like a heavy stone since he officially ended things with the sorceress finally dissolves. Yennefer deserves love after the hand she’s been dealt and Coën would treat her better than Geralt ever could. Better than most men ever would.

Like the snap of a string, Yennefer finally breaks her staring contest with Aiden with a huff. “Come Coën, I could use a sparring partner,” she says casually, striding out of the room with her nose up. Coën blinks at the same time as Geralt feels his mouth drop open. Shit, she’s really gone for him. 

Feeling a nudge to his side, Geralt turns to see Jaskier shooting him a lupine grin, tail wagging excitedly. Heart leaping at the sign of his mate’s happiness, Geralt rubs his head under Jaskier’s chin with a pleased rumble. Gods, but seeing Jaskier tease him and try to steal his Gwent deck again last evening has hope surging through Geralt’s chest. Marya’s words from one of their many pep talks still echo in his head though and Geralt has to remind himself that Jaskier’s healing is a process. But, shit, Geralt has the sudden urge to fucking howl and finds he has to bite his tongue to restrain from doing just that. 

All the members of the keep start to file out of the room with various levels of wakefulness, but Geralt has the odd yet driving need to hold tight to his mate and hide him away. As Jaskier begins to walk out as well, Geralt grabs him lightly by the tail with a whine. Jaskier turns to him, head cocked. _Okay?_ he inquires. Geralt’s mind is a mess and for not the first time, he’s relieved that in this form he can just send emotions instead of words. 

Whatever jumble of images and feelings he communicates must make some kind of sense because Jaskier turns and nuzzles the side of Geralt’s face, sending pulses of warmth and love to him as well as an image of them cuddling. Geralt sags with relief that Jaskier understood and gives a nod. Once they’re the last ones in the room, he plops back down with a pathetic whine, ears pressed down. 

Jaskier releases a low rumble and curls up beside Geralt before placing his head on his back. Geralt feels something within him uncoil. He’s not sure why; it’s not like he and Jaskier haven’t cuddled recently. Though, Geralt supposes they haven’t really done so just the two of them in quite some time. They’ve been out of sync recently and it's been making Geralt itchy. As Jaskier hums softly and licks Geralt’s muzzle, Geralt rests his head on his paws and closes his eyes. This right here is exactly what Geralt needs to feel settled again.

With utter certainty, Geralt realises he could spend the whole fucking day, the rest of the bloody winter, just like this without complaint. 

Unfortunately, Geralt’s wish to remain tangled up with his mate for the foreseeable future is foiled by the sound of both of their stomachs reminding them that breakfast is waiting down the hall. When Geralt releases a disgruntled rumble, Jaskier huffs with amusement before shifting. Sitting on his knees, Jaskier tilts his head. “Are you alright my love?” he asks with a bite of his lip. _I should be the one asking you that,_ Geralt thinks but knows better than to share out loud. 

Instead he shifts as well. “I love you little lark,” is all he says, despite the still unfamiliar name tasting like dust on his tongue. If the slight shadow that flickers in Jaskier’s eyes is any indication, he may be feeling a similar stab of _wrongness._ Geralt has been calling Jaskier that for months now but this is the first time he noticed such a reaction though. Panic lancing through him like a sharp knife at the thought that he has missed more of Jaskier's discomfort Geralt rasps, “Would you rather I not call you that either?” 

Jaskier closes his eyes and takes long, steady breaths, fists clenching spasmodically against his knees. Geralt has to bite his cheek bloody to keep from drawing his mate into a hug and holding him tight. At least Jaskier isn’t running this time. Geralt watches with burning curiosity as the tension thrumming through Jaskier’s shoulders slowly eases until he reopens his eyes. “Melitele bless Aiden,” Jaskier says faintly. Fuck, right. Aiden recommended Jaskier practice entering his “room” daily, especially when he needs to feel centered or calm, not just close to snapping. 

Geralt may have a Cat to thank. Profusely.

Grasping Geralt’s hands, Jaskier studies where their fingers are linked for a long moment. “I miss those words passing your lips,” he whispers, and Jaskier doesn’t need to specify what words he means for Geralt to know. _Me too_ he knows not to say. “I want to be able to handle you calling me that again,” Jaskier adds with a crack of his voice, and Geralt squeezes his hands tightly.

“Remember what Marya has said,” Geralt murmurs. Growling, Jaskier leans forward until their foreheads press together. Geralt wraps his arms around his mate and holds him close.

“Damn that bastard for taking this from us,” Jaskier hisses, and Geralt can’t stop his fingers from curling into fists. He should’ve made the monster suffer longer. Taking a shaky breath Jaskier says determinately, “One day you will be able to call me little-” he chokes and sucks in another breath, then another. Geralt strokes Jaskier’s back soothingly as he feels the shifter tremble "-Little wolf again.” Geralt forces himself not to tighten his grip as Jaskier tenses up once more, but thankfully he still doesn’t flee. Releasing a silent sigh of relief, Geralt resumes his calming caresses. “I guess little lark works for now,” Jaskier eventually admits, voice small and timid. 

Geralt closes his eyes. His strong and confident bard shouldn’t sound so meek. A now familiar vice wraps around Geralt’s heart and throat and squeezes. Geralt breathes through it, taking in Jaskier’s familiar scent and steady heartbeat. He’s here. He’s safe. He’s doing better. He’ll be okay. 

An indeterminate time passes before both of their stomachs rumble once more. With a regretful sigh, Jaskier pulls away. “Can we spend the day together?” he asks, eyes downcast. 

Geralt’s breath catches in his throat. “I’d like nothing else,” Geralt croaks. 

When they make it to the dining hall, breakfast is just being served and Jaskier scoots his chair as close to Geralt as possible. Smiling softly at his mate, Geralt lifts an arm, waiting for the small nod before wrapping it around Jaskier. His smile grows when Jaskier leans into the touch instead of tensing or pulling away. 

“West wall needs mending again,” Vesemir grunts. Fuck. Geralt stares beseechingly at Vesemir, trying to silently beg for a day where he can just be with Jaskier. Something must transfer because the old wolf glances at him before rolling his eyes. “Lambert and Eskel, you’re assigned to it.” 

“What about Geralt!” Lambert protests, mouth full like the uncultured arse he is. 

“He has the day off,” Vesemir announces, stony expression daring Lambert to talk back. 

And Lambert being Lambert obviously does. “You’re getting soft in your old age old man,” Lambert grumbles petulantly. 

Sighing from where he’s stroking a hand along the back of Lambert’s neck Aiden murmurs, “One day you won’t shove your foot into your mouth kitten.” 

Geralt is staring at Vesemir incredulously, tempted to agree with Lambert’s comment. Vesemir has never given them a day off, ever. There’s always something that needs to be done, whether it’s training, hunting, or mending. His chest fills with warmth as Geralt attempts to wordlessly express his gratitude to his instructor. 

Vesemir is too busy glaring at Lambert to notice though. “You can mend the west wall on your own Lambert. Then you can run the walls.” 

Lambert sinks in his chair, crossing his arms with a mutinous glower. Aiden scoots his plate closer to the grouchy Wolf. “Eat, kitten,” he prompts.

Geralt bites back a grin at Lambert’s befuddled expression which only grows when a goat jumps onto their table. All eyes follow Lil Bleater as he sniffs and steals bites of the bread Marya and Vesemir made together off of people’s plates. When he reaches Marya, Lil Bleater becomes interested in the shifter’s hair hanging over her shoulders instead of a bun like usual. 

As the goat starts to nibble on Marya’s hair, the shifter turns to Eskel who is staring at her wide-eyed, most likely praying this doesn’t lose him his Biscuit Privileges. “Eskel,” she begins mildly, “Please remove your unruly child from our dining table.” Nodding frantically, Eskel jumps up and gently unlatches Lil Bleater from his current meal before bringing the goat back to where he’s sitting next to Leon and Kamil. Geralt watches with unbridled amusement as Lil Bleater butts against Eskel’s staying hand before clambering back on the table to stamp purposely towards where Coën and Yennefer are entering the room. Their sparring session must have gone well if Yennefer’s relaxed posture is anything to go by. Geralt attempts to capture the Griffin’s expression in his memory as Lil Bleater determinately climbs up on Coën until he is perched smugly upon the witcher’s shoulder. 

His attention is snapped to his side when Jaskier begins to giggle, and Geralt can sense that everyone else is staring too. Jaskier laughs like he sings: loud, unapologetic, and with his whole being. It’s a sound and sight that has been missing in the keep for months. As others slowly join in on the laughter, Geralt can only stare at Jaskier with awe. This man has walked through darkness and pain but has come out laughing, color and light seeping back into his pores and eyes. He’s the most remarkable creature Geralt has ever known. 

When Jaskier turns to Geralt, mirth sparking in his eyes, Geralt is desperate to taste his joy so, heedless of those around him, he pulls Jaskier into a needy kiss, a low whimper slipping out when Jaskier melts into his touch. 

They’ve rarely kissed these past few months, hardly been intimate at all beyond cuddles. And Geralt is okay with that; he’s barely had a libido anyway watching his mate in pain. But suddenly Geralt feels as horny as when he was a lad, and all he wants to do is sweep Jaskier away and stay locked in their room for the rest of the day. 

Geralt sputters when a pitcher of water is dumped on his head. “No fucking in public areas,” Lambert complains, eyes widening in horror as he watches Jaskier shrink away, dripping from where he got splattered by the water. Fuck. Jaskier flicks his eyes furtively between Lambert and Geralt and Geralt can tell he’s one second away from bolting. But then Jaskier does it again. Closes his eyes, breathes deeply and slowly, and drifts away to the sanctuary he’s built in his mind. Geralt holds his breath and can tell that the rest of the pack does the same. 

When Jaskier opens his eyes after a long moment, he flashes Lambert a weak smile. “I don’t think you can talk considering the state I found you and Aiden in last winter.” A mixture of relief and mortification crosses Lambert’s face as he relaxes back into his seat. Knowing the younger witcher, he would’ve chastised himself for the rest of the day if he inadvertently spooked Jaskier. A hand slithers over Geralt’s leg and links their fingers together. Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hand tight, unable to find the words to properly express the pride, hope, reassurance flooding his heart. Jaskier's gonna be okay.

After breakfast, Jaskier and Geralt find themselves in their room. Geralt beelines to his sketchbook, eager to capture the image of Lil Bleater chewing Marya’s hair and climbing onto Coën before it fades. Jaskier lingers in the doorway, a look of indecision on his face before joining Geralt on the bed. Slipping between him and his sketchbook into a familiar position, Jaskier leans against Geralt’s chest and watches him work. After decades of shame, it took a lot of coaxing on Jaskier’s part to build Geralt’s comfort and confidence with being watched drawing. It’s still a secret between them and Ciri but Geralt is okay with that. Maybe one day Geralt will cave and allow Jaskier to hang his art in every room of Kaer Morhen as Geralt knows the shifter is dying to do, but for now the sheets will remain in an innocuous chest in their room. 

As Geralt draws, a distinct lack of music hangs heavy in the air. Usually whilst Geralt engages in his art Jaskier always hums, composes, sings, or strums on his lute while he watches. Yet now, as it has been for months, Jaskier is silent and the silence bites at Geralt like a swarm of gnats. But he breathes through it, Marya’s voice ringing in his ears again. You can’t rush healing. 

Finished with the first draft of Marya and Lil Bleater, and making a mental note to add some shading and color to it later, Geralt moves to Coën. As Geralt begins recreating the Griffin’s hilarious expression, Jaskier traces random designs along his legs. Usually that would be enough for Geralt to set aside his work and take Jaskier apart, but they haven’t done anything but kiss since Jaskier’s kidnapping. “Do you wanna fuck?” Jaskier asks bluntly. The charcoal Geralt had been using snaps in half. Blinking down at his smudged drawing, Geralt turns to Jaskier, but the shifter’s head is tilted away. 

Alright then.

Setting aside his work, Geralt rearranges Jaskier until the shifter is face to face with him, still secure within Geralt’s arms and legs. “Come again?” 

Jaskier looks down, picking idly at their furs. He shrugs. “Just know you must be getting sick of all this touching without us actually doing anything.” 

Geralt blinks again before shaking his head in confusion. “We are doing things,” Geralt responds slowly. “Right now,” he gestures to his sketchbook, to their positions, but Jaskier only huffs out a frustrated breath. 

“You know what I mean Geralt,” he snaps sullenly, crossing his arms and turning away. “We haven’t fucked in months and I know your hand can only be so satisfying. So I’m just saying, let’s fuck.” 

Geralt’s heart slowly crumbles as he stares silently at his mate, at how Jaskier’s shoulders are hunched but his face is lined with determination. He feels sick. “Jaskier, this is all I need. You, here, with me,” he insists firmly. “Safe, healing. This is all I need.” 

Geralt swallows as those beautiful blue eyes turn to him, brimming with tears. “You sure?” Jaskier croaks, biting his lip. 

Wiping away the tears that begin to fall down Jaskier's cheeks Geralt nods. “You are all I need. Just as you are.” 

Geralt is unprepared for Jaskier’s desperate kiss. It tastes like tears and love and gratitude Geralt doesn’t think he deserves. As he recovers and returns the kiss, Geralt attempts to pour his love and relief and unshakable acceptance into every touch of their lips, every flick of his tongue, every bite of his teeth. Jaskier’s hands scrabble for a hold, finally grasping Geralt’s tunic to tug him closer. But when Geralt feels himself harden, he forces himself to pull away. “Jaskier, I meant it,” he pants, averting his gaze from those large burning eyes so he doesn’t do something he’ll regret. “We don’t have to do anything.” What he says next surprises him but Geralt knows he means every word. “For fucks sake if all you ever want to do for the rest of our lives is just kiss and cuddle I’ll be fine with that.” 

Jaskier sits back on his heels, mouth open with shock. “You would do that for me?” he rasps.

A question that has been tearing Geralt apart finally slips out. “Did he-” Geralt swallows, feeling sick just thinking about it as his fingers itch to grasp for the hilt of his sword. 

Jaskier looks down before shaking his head. “Liked me too much as a wolf to fuck me,” Jaskier murmurs. Wrapping his arms around himself he shrugs. “Just- hard to get physical after everything. Not to mention-” he waves at his torso. 

Geralt’s head tilts, brows furrowing. “Not to mention what?” 

Jaskier looks away. “My scars,” he says quietly. 

Geralt stares at Jaskier uncomprehendingly. He’s seen flashes of the scars now littering once pristine skin but Geralt doesn’t understand Jaskier's concern. For fucks sake, Jaskier is the one who took one look at Eskel and called him beautiful the first day they met. So what’s the problem? 

Shaking his head Geralt says, “I don’t understand. You’ve seen my scars and frequently express your admiration of them.” 

Growling, Jaskier rakes his hand through his hair. “You earned those fairly in battles. Besides, witchers are expected to be covered in scars. Bards are expected to look pretty and fuckable.”

“But you _are_ pretty and fuckable,” Geralt states, frowning.

Jaskier sends him a wan smile. “Others won’t agree.” 

“Fuck them.” Geralt hardly recognizes the venom coating his words. Grabbing Jaskier’s hands Geralt insists plaintively, “You’re the most beautiful fucking creature on this godsforsaken Continent. Even if your skin turned gray and wrinkly and your face was covered in warts I would want you. _You are my mate_ and if anyone has a problem with how you look you can direct them to me.” Flushing at how passionate he had become, a rare occurrence for Geralt, he licks his suddenly dry lips as he apprehensively waits for Jaskier to react.

The shifter simply stares at him, mouth open and eyes wide. Slowly, Jaskier pulls his hands out of Geralt’s grasp in order to cradle his face. “What the fuck did I do to deserve you?” he breathes. 

Leaning forward until their foreheads press together, Geralt rasps, “I could ask you the same.” 

He feels himself melt as hands stroke through his hair and Jaskier chuckles softly. “We’re a fucking mess.” 

Geralt’s lips lift slightly. “At least we’re a mess together.” 

*******

Dandelion is not happy with soft one and loud one who-is-slightly-more loud now. They were hiding in the room that smells like soft and loud one who-is-slightly-more loud all light time! And Dandelion couldn’t join them to get pets! Rude! They must make up for it now that it’s dark time. Dandelion stalks up to where they're lying next to fire one and rubs his head against soft one. Soft one is on four legs but Dandelion demands pets! When soft one stands up Dandelion yowls but after soft one disappears he comes back on two legs. Better. Dandelion clambers into soft one’s lap and starts purring as soft one gives Dandelion pets. Good. Good soft one giving pets. 

Alloy walks straight up to metal brother once metal brother lies down next to strong one and quiet one. Stupid metal brother and metal sister not cuddling again but metal sister got to pet Alloy last dark time so it’s metal brother’s turn. When Alloy curls onto metal brother’s lap, Alloy gets many fingers in her fur. Turning, Alloy releases a happy meow as she sees strong one wearing the human sign for happiness as he pets Alloy. Yes, it is a good thing to pet Alloy because Alloy is nice and soft. A wet nose nudges against Alloy and Alloy butts four legged quiet one’s face with a rumble. Lots of good cuddling tonight. 

Lil Bleater is very happy that he proved to big hill that Lil Bleater is a good climber! But now big hill is cuddling one-who-likes-pointy-things, two-legged kitty, and lil wolf so Lil Bleater looks to mama wolf. Stupid papa bleater pulled Lil Bleater away before Lil Bleater could get pets from mama wolf. Stomping over to mama wolf, Lil Bleater climbs on top of where she is lying on papa wolf. Nice soft little hill. Papa wolf gives pets while mama wolf releases a happy rumble. Lil Bleater returns the rumble with a cheerful bleat as he nibbles at mama wolf’s ear. Mama wolf shakes her head which is rude but Lil Bleater is tired so Lil Bleater lies down. Lil Bleater did lots of climbing during the light time. Now it’s time for pets and sleep.

Lambert glowers around the room from where he’s cushioned between Aiden, Ciri, and Coën. “Feeling a bit bereft without a soft thing of your own?” Ciri lightly teases, tugging his hair.

Crossing his arms Lambert grunts, “Dunno what you mean.” 

Humming, Aiden wraps an arm around Lambert and rests his head upon Lambert’s chest and Lambert’s heart certainly doesn’t leap at that. “I’ve been thinking it might be nice to have a cat of our own,” Aiden muses. “Don’t you think kitten?” 

Lambert’s eyes widen at the prospect of having something small and soft and furry all year round before scowling. “It’s hard enough tending to your every need. I’m not gonna be saddled with keeping another helpless thing alive.” The dark look Aiden shoots Lambert informs him he’ll pay for that comment later and Lambert can’t stop a satisfied grin from crossing his face. Hopefully that’ll distract Aiden and get this whole getting a cat business out of his head. 

It’s one thing for the weird animals at the keep to tolerate him. But Lambert’s certain that any cat outside of this strange fam- pa- group of arseholes, fools, and bastards would go running yowling in the other direction if he approached it. Shaking his head to rid himself of the morose thoughts, Lambert strokes a hand through the squirt’s hair. Wrapping an arm around Lambert, Ciri nuzzles his neck. “Love you Lambert,” she murmurs. 

Lambert feels his heart flip like a fucking acrobat before he gives his usual response. “Not so bad yourself squirt,” before closing his eyes and slipping off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, poll time! It’s Leon’s turn to find some love, though it may not happen in this fic. The question is, who will be lucky enough to earn the love of our ace blacksmith? Below are the options. Feel free to add your vote in a comment!
> 
> -Forming a triad with Eskel and Kamil (because I keep finding myself writing those three together and I could see it work, though I could also easily see this remaining platonic)  
> -Leon and Triss  
> -Leon and a succubus who feeds on physical intimacy and not sex (this wonderful idea is credited to BookSmartMione)
> 
> Updated character list:
> 
>  **Geralt:** soft one, gentle one  
>  **Jaskier:** loud one, noisy one, nice predator 
> 
> **Lambert:** wild one, shouty one, one-who-likes-pointy-things  
>  **Aiden:** two-legged littermate, two-legged kitty
> 
>  **Eskel:** strong one, papa bleater  
>  **Kamil:** quiet one, cuddly predator 
> 
> **Marya:** mama loud one, mama wolf  
>  **Vesemir:** papa soft one, papa wolf
> 
>  **Leon:** metal brother  
>  **Ewa:** fire one, metal sister, metal one  
>  **Ciri:** tall one, sister-who-smells-like-metal-sister, lil wolf, little one 
> 
> **Yennefer:** scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore  
>  **Coen:** large one, big hill
> 
>  **Dandelion:** littermate, older brother  
>  **Alloy:** littermate, older sister  
>  **Roach:** Mama Dandelion, Mama Biscuit  
>  **Biscuit:** little sister  
>  **Lil Bleater:** little brother


	6. No Other Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier takes two steps forward, one step back, and another tinier one forward. Ewa and Leon do what siblings do. Marya and Vesemir are literal children. Yennefer takes a big step of her own. The fluffy members of the keep continue to do their jobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the horrible delay my dear readers! Between work and life commitments that snuck up on me and this chapter not behaving, it took me a bit longer to get this one out. Have a longer chapter in apology. 
> 
> On the bright side, I am excited to announce the Leon/succubus pairing had the most votes and I’ve actually already posted the first two chapters. Feel free to read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25373647/chapters/61526014
> 
> Excerpt:  
>  _Athanasi sags as they’re released and Leon steps back, sheathing his knife. “You’re a succubus. Who doesn’t like sex,” Leon states blankly. Athanasi nods encouragingly. They’re glad Leon is getting it. “How do you survive?”_
> 
> _“Hugs,” Athanasi says, wrapping their arms around themselves longingly._
> 
> _Leon blinks. “Hugs,” he repeats dubiously._

Jaskier takes slow, steady breaths as he stares at the door, Kamil a calm and encouraging presence beside him. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” the fox shifter reminds him. Jaskier nods without taking his eyes off of the oak door. For the past few weeks he and Kamil have gone to the springs together to help acclimate Jaskier with baring his scars for others to see. He started with his chest entirely submerged in the water before slowly rising until he could sit straight up and even be comfortable having Kamil close enough to wash the other shifter’s hair. But this will be another, bigger step.

Kamil and Geralt’s reassurance echo in Jaskier’s ears though, and their words empower him to finally push open the doors. As he and Kamil enter, Lambert, Eskel, Geralt, Aiden, and Coën stop talking and turn from where they’re lounging in the spring for an early morning soak. Lambert beams at him as the rest shoot Jaskier small smiles. Jaskier attempts to return them as he and Kamil reach the edge of the pool. For a long moment he stands there frozen, fingers toying with the hem of Geralt’s tunic he stole. Jaskier hears Geralt’s words again and the passion that had infused them. _You’re the most beautiful fucking creature on this godsforsaken Continent._ Kamil’s earnest proclamation joins in. _These are proof that he **didn’t win.**_

Closing his eyes to gather his courage, Jaskier pulls off the tunic, averting his gaze so he doesn’t have to see the witchers’ reactions. Tugging off his trousers and smallclothes, Jaskier slips into the spring, ensuring his chest is fully submerged before floating over to Geralt until he’s tucked under his mate’s arm, the comforting weight helping to ground him. “Proud of you little lark,” Geralt whispers in Jaskier’s hair. The shifter nuzzles Geralt’s neck in response. He closes his eyes, takes several deep breaths, and then looks around at the group of witchers very carefully _not_ staring at him. 

A sudden rush of anger at being treated like glass, an unfortunately familiar emotion recently, barrels him over, but before he explodes Jaskier feels thick fingers card through his hair. Melting, a smile tugs at the edges of his lips at the feeling of soap being rubbed through his hair. “Thanks love,” Jaskier murmurs, sinking into the feeling of being tended to in the same way Jaskier has taken care of Geralt countless times before. 

As Jaskier relaxes, conversation resumes with the help of Kamil, bless the fox shifter. “So Coën, your courtship of Yennefer seems to be going well,” he prompts. Jaskier watches with amusement as the broad witcher colours slightly, fidgeting with a bar of soap. Seeing a mythical monster hunter being brought to his knees by the mention of a woman he has feelings for is utterly surreal and painfully endearing. 

Clearing his throat the Griffin rumbles, “She hasn’t threatened to turn me into a newt recently so I think I’m making progress.” 

Smirking Jaskier quips, “At this rate soon she’ll be professing her undying love to you,” eyes fluttering as Geralt massages his scalp firmly.

“I think it’s safe to say Yennefer’s been replaced with a doppler if she ever does that,” Eskel remarks dryly from where he’s wrapped himself around Kamil who is looking very smug indeed. Geralt snorts softly before covering Jaskier’s eyes as he pours water over his head to wash out the suds. 

“I still think you're mad for trying to woo the witch,” Lambert grumbles from where he’s pressed against Aiden’s chest. 

“You’re just still jumpy because she hasn’t gotten revenge on you for the mouse stunt,” Aiden teases lightly before kissing Lambert’s cheek. It will never cease to delight Jaskier to witness the grumpy witcher turn red. 

“I know she’s just biding her time before she attacks,” Lambert defends, waving his arms emphatically. 

Aiden hums. “I don’t think she would dare,” those ordinarily serene amber orbs flashing dangerously. Knowing about Aiden’s bloodlust has made the Cat that more intriguing to Jaskier. In the years he’s known the witcher, Aiden’s iron-clad control hasn’t slipped once. It gives him hope that he can achieve Aiden’s level of competence with enough work. Yet even with daily practice at breathing and entering his calm place, Jaskier constantly feels the storm that rages in his chest fighting to be released. When he’s shifted the emotions are even closer to the surface, and though part of him considers avoiding shifting in order to prevent his madness from leaking out, Jaskier knows that’s not sustainable. 

Breathing slowly and taking in the mingling scents of soap and pack, Jaskier slips into his calming room, caressing the hunting book and knives with reverent fingers before flickering open his eyes once again. Several pairs of concerned golden eyes quickly flick away when Jaskier’s open again. Jaskier snorts, his earlier irritation when they did so making way for fondness. Overprotective witchers. 

As his eyes catch on the scars Kamil proudly displays whilst he whispers something in Eskel’s ear that makes the witcher grow pink, Jaskier feels some lingering tension release. Of all places to feel shame or self-consciousness, a spring full of unruly and ridiculous witchers and shifters certainly isn’t it. With a shaky breath, Jaskier allows himself to rise just slightly, enough for the first of his scars to peek out above the water before he finds himself freezing and sinking back down. Well, baby steps. 

*******

“What are you, an apprentice?” Leon demands, tugging the hot punch out of Ewa’s grasp and knocking her out of the way with a check of his hip. 

Propping her hands on her hips as Leon takes over Ewa’s work, his twin says sarcastically, “Oh sorry lord perfect but not every customer will give a shit if their dumb decorations on their useless dagger aren’t absolutely flawless.” Leon just grumbles in response, sweat glinting off of his bare head as he throws himself into his work. With a roll of her eyes, E moves to Leon’s station and takes up the job he had been working on with a dismissive flick of her braids. She transitions smoothly to her new project, brow furrowed in concentration as Ewa glances between Leon’s schematics and the metal she’s drawing, her biceps flexing as she does. Ciri just sighs like the lovesick fool she is as she admires her love work. 

It will never cease to both amaze and entertain her watching E and Leon in the forge. Despite their bickering, they work seamlessly and fluidly, like one smith instead of two. Whilst Leon has more patience for the detailed work some orders demand, Ewa works better with the painstakingly slow process of drawing metal out. They balance each other, two halves of a whole, two pieces of a soul. 

Ciri feels that phantom twinge in her heart at the reminder that she almost tore these two apart and breathes through it. Perhaps she’s giving herself too much credit though; despite how distraught and angry Leon was last winter, she is confident that even without Jaskier’s intervention, they would have reconciled, just with Ciri no longer in the picture. Fuck, the idea of having these two cut from her life causes a painful twist in her gut. Ciri didn’t know she was capable of the love she so ardently possesses for Ewa, let alone the kinship she feels for Leon, until she met them. She doesn’t know what she would do if she lost it.

Ciri frowns as she turns to her love’s twin. For all the joy E gives her, Ciri wants that same happiness for Leon. The problem is, in all her time with Leon, she’s never seen him take a lover or even indicate interest in someone. She supposes that romance isn’t for everyone but there is this shadow of melancholia that falls over Leon’s eyes when he’s looking around at the various couples sometimes. Ciri just wants him to be happy.

“I can feel your brooding from over here pipsqueak,” Leon calls, eyes not leaving the steady work he’s focused on. “You’re gonna make me slip up.”

“Oh gods forbid one flower is out of alignment,” Ewa mutters. 

“Yeah keep talkin’ hammer hands,” Leon retorts. 

Ciri laughs at both twins, receiving matching glares for her troubles. “You could support me here you know,” she hears in echo. 

Grinning, Ciri clasps her hands behind her back before drawing closer to study both of their work. Tsking she hums, “I must say Leon, that fifth flower looks about a millimeter off to the right,” revelling in Leon’s open-mouthed horror as he turns to check. “And Ewa, Ewa, Ewa,” Ciri sighs with a shake of her head. “That metal is looking a bit lumpy, wouldn’t you say?” 

Ewa places down her work and crosses her arms with a mutinous scowl. “You’re a little shit, you know that Starlight?”

“Takes one to know one,” Ciri says sweetly with a flutter of her eyelashes before yelping when she finds herself in a headlock. 

“Just for that pipsqueak you’re stepping in for me during my next archery lesson with Marya,” Leon growls, shaking her gently.

“Wouldn’t that lead to _you_ being more punished than me?” Ciri points out, arms scrabbling as she half-heartedly attempts to escape the blacksmith’s hold while secretly enjoying the familiar form of affection. 

“Fuck you’re right.” He frowns in the distance, heedless of Ciri’s fruitless pounding on his arms. Snapping his fingers Leon grins down evilly at Ciri. “Just for that, I’m stealing whatever soft creature decides to curl up on you tonight,” Leon croons, releasing Ciri so she stumbles with a squeak. 

Righting herself, Ciri clasps a hand over her heart. “You wouldn’t,” she breathes. 

Twirling his hot punch Leon grins, “Try me.” 

When Ciri turns to E beseechingly the blacksmith glances at Ciri out of the corner of her eye before shrugging with a smirk. “Can’t help you love, I’m too busy trying to fix my lumpy metal.” Ciri grumbles before resuming her position against the counter to watch those two work. She takes it back; she hates them both. 

*******

Geralt is returning to his and Jaskier’s rooms to grab his Gwent deck for an afternoon game when he freezes. Low and hesitant notes from a lute float through the oak door and Geralt’s breath catches in his throat. Reeling, Geralt slides down the door and presses his back to it. Fuck, he hasn’t heard that sound in months. Closing his eyes, Geralt tilts his ear to the side in order to soak up the slow melody, heart squeezing when it abruptly stops. 

Geralt flails when the door he had been leaning against opens. Lying on his back, Geralt gazes up at the amused expression of his mate, holding his lute in his hand. “You know I can smell you, right?” Jaskier asks, restrained laughter in his voice. 

Geralt smiles sheepishly. “Didn’t want to disturb you.” Swallowing he rumbles, “Good to hear you playing.” 

Jaskier’s amusement fades into something more solemn before transforming into a look of apprehensive determination. “Close the door?” he requests. Jumping up, Geralt follows the instruction before standing awkwardly. Jaskier shoots him a weak smile. “Maybe you can draw a bit?” 

Screw Lambert’s Gwent challenge. Grabbing some parchment and paints, Geralt settles on the bed while Jaskier sits across from him. Geralt bows his head but watches Jaskier through his draping hair. One hand grasps the neck of his lute tightly while the other hovers over the strings. Taking several slow, deep breaths, Jaskier closes his eyes and begins to strum. Forgetting all about the fact that he’s expected to be drawing right now, Geralt stares in amazement as Jaskier plays once again. Brows furrowed in a frown and biting his lip, Jaskier’s fingers stumble over a few notes but gain in confidence as he continues. He isn’t performing any songs that Geralt knows, Jaskier is simply reacquainting with an old friend. And it’s fucking beautiful to watch. 

Lambert is about to pound on Geralt and Songbird’s door to taunt the other witcher for being too cowardly to play him when he pauses. Fuck, lute music. He stares at the door for a long moment, desperate to burst through so he can witness Jaskier play again with his own eyes. Swallowing, Lambert turns and trudges back down the hallway. Jaskier will play for them all again one day when he’s ready. For now, Lambert will leave the two lovebirds in peace. 

*******

Vesemir watches with a fond smile as Marya hums to herself and pounds dough. Flour is peppering her unruly hair and face and her clothes are completely disheveled. She hasn’t looked more beautiful. “Are you planning on standing uselessly and ogling me all day or are you gonna help?” Marya grunts, not taking her eyes off of where she’s rolling the dough. 

“I didn’t want to stop the roll you were on.” 

Marya shoots him some withering side-eye. “Please tell me that wasn’t a pun.”

“If I said it wasn't, do I get first taste of your latest batch?” Vesemir asks with a boyish grin interrupted by an apron thrown at his face. 

“If you _get to work_ I’ll consider it,” she retorts, her lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. 

Slipping the apron on, Vesemir grabs Marya by her sides and drags her close to his chest, grinning at her outraged squawks before blinking at the flour thrown at his face. “You’re playing a dangerous game my huntress,” Vesemir rumbles, wiping his face in Marya’s hair. 

Tilting her head back, Marya smirks with a challenging spark in her eye. “Oh? What are you gonna do about it moonlight?” 

Vesemir growls before picking up a mug of water and dumping it over Marya’s head. He has one second of victory at Marya’s shocked expression before it morphs into a predatory smile and Vesemir begins to question his life’s choices. “Oh my sweet moonlight,” Marya sighs, turning in his arms with an evil glint in her eye. “You’re going to regret that.” 

Swallowing, Vesemir gazes at the love of his life as she glows in the afternoon light. “You know, I think I’ll find a way to live with myself,” Vesemir says slowly, stroking a hand through her hair and watching as Marya’s face melts into a soft smile. 

“You’re lucky I find you endearing,” Marya grumbles, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re making me go soft.” 

Vesemir grins. “I promise the secret that you’re actually a big softy is safe with me,” he says solemnly, chuckling at Marya’s playful shove. Gods he’s a lucky bastard.

 *******

Leon stares with bemusement as Jaskier plays with Biscuit. And what playing looks like is Biscuit channeling her inner wolf, jumping and rolling on the ground with gleeful whinnies as Jaskier does the same. “Are horses supposed to be able to do that?” he asks Eskel who’s watching with a small grin. 

“If any horse could, it would be one raised by wolves,” he remarks. Leon smiles softly. It’s good to see Jaskier playing again and not just curled up beside the filly. A lingering darkness that had been hanging over the keep this winter seems to slowly dissipate with every smile Jaskier flashes, every laugh he sounds, every night he chooses to sleep in the den rather than outside. There are certainly still some setbacks but not nearly as many as the start of the winter. It’s wonderful to watch, like a flower blooming in spring. 

“Leon!” Kamil calls, hurrying over to him and Eskel with a grin. “I couldn’t _stand_ you using Lambert’s rubbish bow anymore so I made you this,” he announces, brandishing a bow and quiver of arrows with a grin. 

Leon gapes at the gifts, then back at Kamil, then back at the gifts. Hesitantly, Leon reaches out to gently grasp the bow and quiver. “You made me these?” he asks faintly.

“Of course,” Kamli says with a smile. “You’ve been learning fast but you were limited by Lambert’s shit job-” 

“I’m right here you know,” Lambert shouts at them before ducking at Aiden’s swipe. “And I have **feelings!”**

Waving a hand dismissively Kamil says, “With this bow you’ll find you can shoot a whole lot better.” Leon is still staring at the items, speechless. No one other than Ewa has ever given him something. What the fuck are you supposed to do in response to such a bloody act of kindness? Kamil shifts nervously. “I mean, if you don’t like them that’s-” 

“I-” Leon clears his throat, not removing his gaze from the gifts. “I don’t have the words.” Finally, he lifts his eyes, praying that whatever is written on his face expresses his overwhelming gratitude for the fox shifter. By the relieved smile on Kamil’s face, Leon thinks it got across. Fuck, he’s lucky to be part of this pack. 

Yennefer stares at where Coën and Ciri are sparring. Well, sparring is a loose term. Usually there isn’t so much laughter involved. Ciri jumps on Coën’s back and clings on for dear life as the Griffin spins to try to dislodge her, a giant grin crossing his face. Yennefer feels her heart squeeze. Aw, fuck. 

“He’s good with her,” Geralt rumbles, coming up beside Yennefer. 

“Hmm,” she responds non-committedly. 

“He’s good for you too.” 

Yennefer stiffens. “Oh?” she says vaguely. 

“Mhm.” Geralt smiles as Ciri goes flying but performs a perfect roll and recovery. “He’s a far better man than I. I think you could give him a chance.” And with that, Geralt shifts and jumps into the game Jaskier and Biscuit seem to be playing. Yennefer’s lips quirk at the image before she returns her attention to the sparring session. She swallows when Yennefer finds Coën staring right at her, eyes soft and lips raised in a small smile. 

Yennefer takes a slow breath. Being courted has been...strange. It’s involved slow walks and languid conversations, flowers, poetry, and a curious formality Yennefer has never experienced before. She tried to resist Coën’s quiet charm and mild humour and kind heart but slowly, like the changes of leaves in Autumn, she’s found her resolve crumble.

Is she really going to do this? Bare her heart again, put herself out there? Coën releases a bellowing laugh as Dandelion joins the game Jaskier, Geralt, and Biscuit are playing. 

Fuck it.

Straightening with determination, Yennefer strides onto the training field to face the Griffin. “You. Me. Picnic tonight,” she orders, propping her hands on her hips. 

Coën’s smile grows. “Yes my lady,” he says fondly. That’s new too. Not the title so much as the tone. Yennefer doesn’t know if she’s ever been spoken to fondly before. She fears she could get used to it. 

Aiden wipes down his face, still sweaty from his sparring session, when Geralt walks up to him half dressed. Fumbling his sword and tunic as he tries to finish dressing, Geralt draws up to Aiden. “Spar?” he grunts. 

Aiden raises a brow, thinking back to the brutal “sparring” they engaged in during Aiden’s first winter here. “Seems a bit unfair considering I just had one,” Aiden says mildly. 

Geralt hums with a raised brow. “Didn’t know Cats were so chickenshit.” 

Throwing his rag for Lambert to catch Aiden spins his sword lazily in his hand. “You really think I’m gonna rise to that bait?” he asks, affecting a bored tone. 

Geralt grins savagely. “I think you already have.” 

Rolling his eyes, Aiden lunges only to have his attack be parried by a flick of Geralt’s wrist. Geralt’s response isn’t packed with the brute force he carried a few winters ago however. Instead it’s languid and light. Huh.

Mirroring Geralt’s intensity, or lack thereof, Aiden sinks into the familiar motions of swordplay. “Wanted to thank you,” Geralt grunts and Aiden hesitates in his shock. The great White Wolf thanking him?

“Can I ask for what?” Aiden asks lightly. Geralt jerks his head to where Jaskier and Kamil are wrestling with delighted rumbles and yips. 

Ah, of course. Aiden dips his head. “It was my pleasure,” he murmurs, spinning away from Geralt’s thrust. It’s the least he could do; Aiden spent decades trying to get a hold of his emotions enough not to slip into a bloodhaze every time someone irritated or insulted him. If he can spare Jaskier that pain and suffering then his own will have been worth it. 

The conversation clearly over, Geralt begins to pick up the intensity slightly and Aiden responds in kind. Whirling in a circle and ducking past Geralt’s swipe, Aiden is about to nick the Wolf’s collarbone when he has the breath knocked out of him by over 200 pounds of wolf. He cries out as teeth sink into him and he feels his skin tear. Aiden scrabbles to dislodge Jaskier without harming the shifter and sags with relief when frantic hands wrestle Jaskier off of him. Lambert and Yennefer surround him and Aiden already feels the pain begin to dissipate and skin knit itself up within seconds. Gods bless sorceresses. Meanwhile Jaskier is still snarling and fighting Geralt and Eskel’s grip, gripped by bloodlust. 

Stumbling to his feet, Aiden approaches Jaskier, which causes the shifter to go into a greater frenzy. Aiden shrugs off Lambert’s desperate grab of his arm and takes another step closer to the maddened wolf. “Enter your room Jaskier,” he commands, calm steel in his voice. “What does it smell like? What does it sound like? What do you see there? Enter your room.” Aiden continues to repeat his order until Jaskier’s fight slowly drains out of him. The Cat knows immediately when Jaskier is back with them, the shifter’s eyes widening as he releases a whimper. 

Geralt and Eskel hesitantly loosen their grip on him and in a flash of fur, Jaskier races out of the keep. Everyone gathered watches him flee grimly as Marya joins the group, her hand raised out fruitlessly. After a long moment she bows her head with a sigh. “Healing is a process,” is all she whispers before Marya turns and walks away. 

“He was protecting you Geralt, so this is good data to know,” Aiden observes. “You’ll need to avoid sparring near him until he gains better control.” Geralt gives a silent nod before trudging away, back hunched. Aiden releases a sigh. “Fuck.” 

Strong hands grasp his shoulders and spin him around. _”Never_ approach someone that literally just attacked you again,” Lambert snarls, fingers digging painfully into Aiden’s shoulders. Golden eyes are wide with terror and Aiden can feel Lambert trembling minutely. If the drying blood on his neck is any indication, Aiden must have looked a sight when Jaskier latched onto him. 

Smiling softly, Aiden brushes a thumb along Lambert’s cheek. “Sorry kitten,” he murmurs. “Wanna spend a cozy afternoon curled up together?” It speaks to how scared Lambert truly was when the Wolf doesn’t make a snarky comment in reply but simply grips Aiden’s arm and tugs him away. Aiden will have to make up for frightening Lambert. Hmm. A slow bath and a praise-filled cuddle session should do the trick. He could use some comfort himself. 

*******

He finds her in the watchtower, gazing out the forest-facing window. Curled up in a cranny, arms wrapped around her legs, she looks small and meek. “Eskel told me what happened,” Vesemir rumbles, coming up beside her. Despite his wish to wrap her in an embrace, he knows that centuries as a lone wolf have ingrained instincts that can make her skittish to touch when distraught. 

When she wordlessly leans toward him, Vesemir breathes a small breath of relief and settles in the nook, drawing her into his arms. “Every time I think he’s okay another obstacle is thrown in his path,” Marya rasps, eyes still glued to the forest where her son is somewhere alone and petrified. 

Vesemir knows that echoing the mantra Marya has had established in all their minds won’t be any help right now. So instead, he holds her close as her frame shakes and silent tears slip down her cheeks. They spend the rest of the afternoon up there, keeping watch for when their pup comes back home. 

*******

Aiden holds Lambert against his chest, both of them wrapped up in blankets. Lambert hasn’t spoken much other than the occasional grumble when Aiden insisted on washing his hair. Now the Wolf draws lazy designs along Aiden’s throat. “You’re a dickhead,” Lambert finally croaks, burying his face in the neck that had been nearly torn apart hours earlier.

”So I’ve been told,” Aiden says wryly, kissing the top of Lambert’s head. His fondness for this creature truly knows no bounds. 

”I’d really appreciate it if you stopped nearly dying on me,” Lambert mumbles. “It’s a shit way to seek attention,” he adds weakly. 

Aiden smiles into Lambert’s hair. “But how else will I receive the attention I so desperately crave?” He asks dramatically, laughing as his ear is flicked. 

”Dickhead.” 

”I love you too kitten,” Aiden says fondly. Silence falls again as Aiden luxuriates in the press of the warm body upon him. Today was another close call in a pattern that has become worrisome. Aiden would be dead several times over if it weren’t for Lambert and the people at this keep. Gods, what did he do to inspire such loyalty, such care?

Aiden is pulled from his thoughts when Lambert licks his lips and opens his mouth as though to speak. A second later, Lambert closes it with a frown. Aiden watches with bemusement as this occurs several more times before the Wolf takes a deep breath. “I. Uh.” He huffs out a frustrated growl. “Love you too. I guess. Dickhead.” 

Aiden stares down at Lambert in shock. He’s not under another truth spell because when Aiden had asked Lambert what he wanted to do after the spring the Wolf said “fuck” before wrapping them both into a nest of blankets instead. Okay, so apparently hearing a confession of love under someone’s own free will is mountains more heart-stopping than when said under duress. Holy fuck. Aiden honestly didn’t expect those words to willingly cross Lambert’s lips and he had been okay with that. But now his heart is thumping wildly and he feels warm and tingly in every part of his body.

Timid golden eyes peek up to look at Aiden who is still frozen. “Fuck kitten,” he breathes. “You’re a godsdamned marvel.” 

Apprehension makes way for cockiness as Lambert smirks. “And don’t you fucking forget it.” 

*******

After the shit storm that was this afternoon, Coën considered calling off the picnic but Yennefer was skittish as is. He doesn’t want her to doubt his intentions or give her an opening to retreat. Besides, waiting anxiously for Jaskier to return wouldn’t do them any good. When he suggested they move forward with it, Yennefer looked conflicted before glancing at something behind Coën and reluctantly nodding. Since then, he has been hard at work in the kitchen, preparing a meal and a strawberry tart, her favorite dessert and a recipe he remembers all these decades later. 

Snagging a blanket from his room, a couple of flowers, and a book of poetry as a last minute thought, Coën waits at the gate for Yennefer, feeling a foreign churning in his gut. When she sweeps down the courtyard, Coën’s breath catches in his throat. Yennefer is dressed in a flowing fur overcoat pinned atop a silk black gown. Her hair is partly pinned back, whatever that’s holding it glinting in the moonlight. She is utterly captivating and Coën wearing the nicest pair of trousers and tunic he could find feels woefully inadequate. Considering “nicest pair” means the ones with the least holes and bloodstains, suffice to say the difference between Coën and Yennefer is glaring. Not for the first time, he wonders what Yennefer is doing, humouring his pathetic attempts at courtship. 

Shoving such toxic feelings aside, Coën brandishes a bright yellow flower as she draws up before him. “My lady,” he murmurs with a bow, voice sounding raspy even to his own ears. Instead of the scornful glance he received at the beginnings of their courtship, Yennefer’s eyes soften ever so slightly as she takes the offering. Coën’s eyes widen and he swallows dryly when she slips it behind her ear with a playful smirk. Well. Alright then. Offering his arm, Coën’s heart flutters when Yennefer accepts the gesture and they stroll through the gates. They walk in silence, not an unknown occurrence for them, but tonight it feels weighted as something like anticipation hangs in the air. 

Once they reach the clearing Coën had scouted out earlier, he lays out his blanket, scattering the flowers and unveiling the food. Coën has to bite down on a satisfied grin when he sees Yennefer’s eyes light up at the meal. He had taken careful catalogue of her favorite foods shared in passing as they got to know each other. Though not all of them were possible to make given Coën’s limited resources, he still managed to scrounge up some spiced rabbit, warm bread, and mulled wine. The dessert was going to be a surprise for later. Coën is also just trying to gather his courage since he hasn’t baked for anyone, even himself, since his parents died. “Thank you for inviting me out here Lady Yennefer,” Coën murmurs as he serves them both. 

Yennefer swirls her wine in her cup thoughtfully as she gazes in the distance, and up close Coën notes that the pins in her hair are shaped like wolves. How interesting. “If we’re going to move forward with this, perhaps drop the lady,” she finally suggests, turning guarded violet eyes to him. 

Coën ducks his head to hide his smile, taking a bite of rabbit as he thinks of a response. “I wasn’t aware we were moving forward my lady,” he responds cordially. 

Sighing with exasperation Yennefer says crossly, “I’ve accepted the flowers and walks and even the dumb _poetry_ haven’t I?” Coën decides against remarking how much she secretly seemed to like the poetry. 

“Acceptance of gifts does not necessarily mean an acceptance of courtship,” Coën explains gently. “Ordinarily the one pursued either exchanges a gift of their own or verbally expresses their acceptance.”

He watches with curiosity as she seems to toy with something in her pocket before pulling it out with an explosive sigh. “Fine. Here. Take this,” she snaps, handing Coën a small metal circle no bigger than a thumb. He blinks at it dubiously before looking up at Yennefer with a tilt of his head. 

Growling, Yennefer grabs Coën’s medallion before flipping it over and sticking it on the back. Coën’s eyes flutter as he breathes in that enchanting lilac and gooseberry scent. He’s never had her so close since that first kiss. Depriving himself of another has been the sweetest of tortures. “There. So you don’t die,” she says, irritation in her tone belied by the gentle fingers laying his medallion back against his chest. 

Coën peers into brilliant violet eyes bemusedly. “I don’t understand.” 

Flicking her gaze down so she stares at the Griffin head resting atop his rough tunic Yennefer murmurs, “I’ve made one for everyone in the keep. It’s a distress beacon. Hold it down for three seconds and everyone else wearing it will be given a projection of your location and the town you’re in. I will be able to portal in and retrieve you if necessary.” 

Coën’s breath catches in his throat as he lifts his medallion to stare at the tiny device. No one outside of the wolves at the keep has ever cared about his safety before. And even though Yennefer has made one for everyone, Coën understands the unspoken confession. _I care about you. Don’t die._ Lifting his gaze and finding his breath stolen again at the vulnerability reflected in those enchanting eyes Coën rasps, “Thank you. I-” he swallows, tucking a strand of hair behind the sorceress’ ear. “May I interpret this as an acceptance of my courtship?” 

Gritting her teeth Yennefer shakes his shoulders. “What else do I bloody well have to do to convince you that I’ll endure your archaic version of romance!” 

Coën can only grin at the frustrated sorceress. “May I kiss you Lady Yennefer?” he asks, touching her cheek. 

“Fucking _finally,”_ she growls before tugging him into a searing kiss. Coën melts into the embrace, cradling her face as he allows her to take the lead. She is hungry and fierce and greedy and Coën finds himself responding in kind, utterly consumed by the woman before him. He pours his longing, his admiration, his desperation into each touch of his lips and tongue and distantly wonders if this is what happiness feels like. 

When they finally draw apart to catch their breath, Coën realises with horror that he mussed up her hair. “Oh _fuck_ I’m sorry,” he frets, attempting to fix it and only making it look worse. 

Yennefer’s laugh is soft like a summer’s breeze and Coën yearns to hear it more. “If it’s not far more disheveled when the night’s over I will be sorely disappointed,” she hums with a mischievous light in her eyes. Coën gulps. This woman will utterly ruin him. 

He can’t wait. 

*******

Lil Bleater looks around his herd. Huh. No big hill or one whose-fur-is-not-for-eating. (Lots of yelling when Lil Bleater tried eating one whose-fur-is-not-for-eating’s fur.) Lil Bleater cocks his head when he notices that nice predator is also not here. Those were his first choices for beds this dark time. Oh well. Lil Bleater turns to littler hill. Littler hill is surrounded by the rest of the herd so Lil Bleater has to step on some squishy things to get to him. When Lil Bleater finally makes it on top of littler hill, he releases a victorious bleat but littler hill doesn’t release a happy rumble like he usually does. Huh. Lil Bleater hopes that littler hill is alright. 

Dandelion assesses his many options before crawling onto tall one from where she’s lying on soft one. But when Dandelion lies down on tall one, fire one’s littermate picks Dandelion up before lying on tall one himself. Tall one and fire one’s littermate bare teeth in the human sign of happiness before tall one squeezes fire one littermate’s paw and pets Dandelion. Not the position Dandelion was expecting but Dandelion still gets pets and cuddles so he’s not complaining. 

Alloy found mama loud one and papa soft one in a tall tall place and curled up with them because they weren’t showing the human sign of happiness. They still don’t, so Alloy has decided to stay with them in the litter. Sometimes some humans need more cuddling than other humans and that’s okay. That’s why Alloy is here, to cuddle. Alloy’s job is very very hard. 

Geralt can tell it’s late in the night when his ears prick at the sounds of various disgruntled grumbles that subsequently turn into muted gasps. Blinking open his eyes, his breath catches when Geralt spots Jaskier attempting to make his way through the den. The entire keep seemed to curl around and on top of Geralt tonight and “grateful” doesn’t begin to express the emotions that had been swirling through his chest. It makes it a bit difficult to get to him though. Geralt watches Jaskier lick Aiden’s neck and whine softly as Aiden lifts his head and pets the shifter sloppily. “D’you think Lambert’s a cat or a wolf or a porcupine?” Aiden yawns. “‘Cause they’re all soft an’ even though p’cupines are prickly they’re also soft and-” as Aiden continues to mumble gibberish Lambert drags the Cat back onto his chest with a muttered, “Go the fuck to sleep dickhead.” 

Geralt chuffs softly and thumps his tail when Jaskier turns to him. Wiggling between Geralt and Aiden, causing a ripple effect of grumbles as some space is made for him, Jaskier licks Geralt’s muzzle gently, snuffles at Aiden’s neck, and closes his eyes. Geralt has hardly breathed since Jaskier entered; this is the first time the shifter has come to the den on a day he runs away. He can’t help but feel a flicker of hope despite the incident that occurred earlier. Healing is a process, and even with the occasional setback, there is no other way than forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you **Starkid34** for the suggestion of having Yennefer witness Coën and Ciri together to help her heart melt a bit :)
> 
> The scene with Jaskier and Biscuit is inspired by this utterly adorable video: https://babyanimalgifs.tumblr.com/post/623479833787318272/goodest-boy-loves-his-friend-via
> 
> Updated character list:  
>  **Geralt:** soft one, gentle one, littler hill  
>  **Jaskier:** loud one, noisy one, nice predator 
> 
> **Lambert:** wild one, shouty one, one-who-likes-pointy-things  
>  **Aiden:** two-legged littermate, two-legged kitty
> 
>  **Eskel:** strong one, papa bleater  
>  **Kamil:** quiet one, cuddly predator 
> 
> **Marya:** mama loud one, mama wolf  
>  **Vesemir:** papa soft one, papa wolf
> 
>  **Leon:** metal brother, fire one's littermate  
>  **Ewa:** fire one, metal sister, metal one  
>  **Ciri:** tall one, sister-who-smells-like-metal-sister, lil wolf, little one 
> 
> **Yennefer:** scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore, one whose-fur-is-not-for-eating  
>  **Coen:** large one, big hill
> 
>  **Dandelion:** littermate, older brother  
>  **Alloy:** littermate, older sister  
>  **Roach:** Mama Dandelion, Mama Biscuit  
>  **Biscuit:** little sister  
>  **Lil Bleater:** little brother


	7. No Day But Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coën reveals some secret skills, Geralt unveils some of his creations, and the rest of the keep get up to their usual shenanigans. Also, and this may come as a shock to you, the fluffy residents find some warm bodies to cuddle up against.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! Thank you dearly to everyone who gave some kudos or wrote comments throughout this rollercoaster of a fic. <3 You keep me motivated each time I bang my head against the wall because one of these idiots didn't behave the way they were supposed to.
> 
> On another note, I've firmly thrown out the whole "witchers can't blush" thing because it's bullshit and I want these oafs to be able to blush goddammit.

The keep is woken up by a yelp. As one they all turn to where Jaskier is sitting up, wide-eyed and panting. They all know what such behavior means: a nightmare. Almost every night at least one person wakes from one before being smothered with affection and soothed by those around them. With Jaskier it’s different, since he can be so skittish to touch now. They watch as Jaskier leaps up to Aiden before snuffling and licking his throat with a whine. “D’you ever think about where the sun goes at night? Does the moon kick it outta the sky?” Aiden mumbles, sitting up and nudging Jaskier’s head with his own. 

“You’re a dumbass and I don’t know what I see in you,” Lambert grumbles, dragging Aiden back down. Jaskier sneezes with amusement before licking Aiden’s neck one more time and turning to Lambert’s to do the same. Eskel watches as Jaskier repeats this gesture on each member of the pack, always right where he had ripped at Aiden’s skin yesterday. Ah. Eskel has an idea of what he dreamt about. Once Jaskier makes his rounds, the shifter doesn’t relax, ears still pinned back and tail between his legs as he shakes slightly and walks in tight circles to keep an eye on everyone in the room. 

Rocking to his knees Eskel murmurs, “Can we touch you Jaskier?” The shifter stares at him with wide eyes for a long moment before nodding jerkily. Immediately, several hands run through his fur and Jaskier abruptly sits down with a whine. With each stroke and caress the tension brimming through his frame slowly flows out until Jaskier lays back down. Turning to gently lick the hands touching him, Jaskier rests his head on his paws and closes his eyes. 

With some jostling and arguing, the members of the keep rearrange themselves until Marya, Geralt, and Aiden are resting on Jaskier while the rest curl protectively around them. “Soft soft kitty cat,” Aiden mumbles, patting Jaskier’s head before collapsing on his coat and passing out. Eskel smiles softly at Lambert’s exasperated expression that can’t hide the fondness twinkling in his eyes. It's good to see the grumpy witcher happy. He turns to where Jaskier is beginning to rumble with pleasure as he's surrounded by the scent and touch of those around him. The shifter isn’t quite out of the woods yet but that’s okay; Jaskier has his pack.

*******

“Hey Lambert.” The witcher in question looks up from his latest bomb experiment to see Kamil standing before him with his hands on his hips and wearing a determined expression. 

“Can I help you archery snob?” Lambert grumbles, turning back to his current measurements. 

“Funny you say that actually. I’m gonna teach you how to make a proper crossbow.” 

Lambert raises his brow before cursing as he spills some of the spirits he had been pouring. “What makes you think I wanna learn?” he retorts, returning his attention to his work. It’s not like he’s been admiring Kamil and Leon’s bows. It’s not like he stays up at night sometimes, wondering if his crossbow shot straighter whether Aiden would have been so close to death when his old gang ambushed them. 

When no reply comes Lambert looks up again to glare at the fox shifter who gazes back at him placidly, hands shoved in his pockets. Cocking his head Kamil says, “Because a shit bow can get you and others killed.” Lambert twitches. Fuck, can the little fox read his thoughts or some shit? 

Kamil begins rocking back and forth on his heels while Lambert sizes him up. With a burst of breath Lambert growls, “Fine I’ll fucking humour you but if you insult me again I’m gonna shove my fist down your throat whether you’re Eskel’s little boytoy or not.” As he stamps away Kamil falls into step with Lambert and they walk to the weapon’s room where a bunch of supplies lie, Lambert muttering all the way. 

“Now you’re gonna shut up and sit and follow everything I do,” Kamil orders as they stand in front of the materials. 

Sitting down sullenly Lambert grumbles, “You know I miss when you were quiet and shy.” 

Kamil flashes a smile. “I find it hard to believe you fail to get along with people who return your bark with a bite.” Lambert grunts, fiddling with some wood before finding it slapped out of his hand. He turns to glare at Kamil who only smirks back at him. 

Fuck, the shifter is right. Apparently Lambert likes people who are bastards. Certainly explains what he sees in Aiden. 

Kamil is in the midst of guiding Lambert on how to glue two pieces of wood together straight when they hear distant shouting. “Who the fuck left a bunch of bomb materials out for a curious animal to find!” Eskel bellows out in the courtyard. Lambert’s eyes widen. Oh _fuck._ Scrambling to his feet, Lambert sprints outside to find Eskel cradling Lil Bleater. Oh mother cocksucking _fuck._

“Is he okay?” Kamil frets, running past where Lambert is standing frozen to the frantic goat dad. 

“I think?” Eskel says hysterically, eyes wild as he whirls around listlessly. “It was just some mistletoe and some dwarven spirits before I snatched him away but _when I find out who the fuck-“_

Lambert neatly turns on his heel and hurries calmly away. The goat’ll be fine. That’s good. Not that Lambert was worried. Why would he give a fuck about whether a cu- flu- _dumb_ animal was okay? He wasn’t! He’s not! You know, that wall on the ramparts could really use some replacing. Lambert has been meaning to work on that all winter. No time like the present, right? 

*******

Yennefer is sitting in the dining hall with her eyes closed whilst Coën braids her hair. After a lovely night in which the Griffin proved his promise that he’s never had complaints about his performance before, suffice to say Yennefer was satisfied with the mess her hair became. Afterwards as they lay entwined, Coën played with her hair before hesitantly asking if he could braid it in the morning. A brutish-looking monster hunter asking tentatively to braid her hair is not something Yennefer was ever expecting to encounter. But dear Melitele does he know what he’s doing. 

Yennefer hums as those hands that have so often been used to kill gently tug and weave her strands of hair. “Where did you learn this?” she asks with a contented sigh. 

Coën is silent for a long moment before he speaks. “I had a little sister. She died from smallpox. The same disease that scarred my face.” 

Yennefer frowns. She hadn’t realised his face was scarred, nor that he had a sister. Is that why his beard is so thick? “What was her name?” she asks softly. 

A hand strokes through Yennefer’s hair before lips press upon her head. “Lucja.” 

The sorceress turns to look at the sorrow carved like valleys in Coën's face. Swallowing Yennefer murmurs, ”She was lucky to have a brother like you.” Coën releases a shaky breath and bows his head. Awkwardly, Yennefer squeezes his hand. She’s not used to receiving affection, let alone giving it but she’s trying to practice. It certainly doesn’t come naturally. 

They remain like that for a long moment as Coën tries to compose himself. Eventually, he lifts his head up and brings Yennefer’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “Thank you my lady,” he croaks. Yennefer sends him a tiny smile. Despite what she said last night, Coën seems determined to continue calling her by that title. They remain like that, hands clasped together as Coën gazes at her softly. 

When Marya walks into the dining hall a moment later and towards the kitchen muttering about biscuit hoarders, Yennefer’s eyes widen. The strawberry tart Coën had made last night was the best godsdamned thing she had tasted in her fucking life. After she said as much, Coën explained quietly that his parents were bakers but he hadn’t baked since they died. 

Pinching her lips with determination, Yennefer uses their clasped hands to draw Coën to his feet. He follows with an amused expression which morphs into confusion when Yennefer leads him to the kitchen. “Coën knows how to bake. You should put him to work,” she says firmly, shoving the witcher towards Marya. 

Marya raises a brow as Coën shuffles his feet, a mixture of apprehension and hope fighting for dominance on his face. “I don’t let just anyone in my kitchen when I bake you know,” Marya hums, studying the Griffin before her. Flicking her gaze between Yennefer and Coën and spotting something in their faces she understands, Marya grunts, “Trial basis. You fuck anything up I kick you out.” 

Coën nods stiffly. “Yes ma’am.” 

A smile teases at Marya’s lips. “Finally, a witcher with manners.” Tossing Coën an apron Marya begins barking orders that Coën follows like an obedient pup, a spring in his step Yennefer hasn’t seen before. Smiling softly, Yennefer slips out of the kitchen to leave the two bakers in peace. Damn, she needs to stop doing nice things or word will start spreading that she’s going soft. Then again, the warmth in her chest she feels now is something Yennefer never truly experienced until she started wintering at the keep. If that’s what she gets for being a bit kinder then, well...maybe within these walls it’s okay to be a bit soft. 

Coën can’t remember the last time he’s felt so light, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders and the sun is beaming down on him. _Baking._ Fuck how he missed baking. And for Yennefer to be the one to (literally) push him towards Marya so he could bake again? His heart has never been so full. Sky blue eyes watch him alertly as Coën measures some flour. “All my witchers know how to cook but you’re the first one I’ve encountered who bakes,” she observes. 

Coën takes a breath to steady himself before answering the unasked question. “My parents were bakers,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on his measurements. He smiles softly. “Me and my sister spent our days in the kitchen trying to replicate what they would do.” Recalling the memories is like pulling a bad tooth. Painful, yet soothing at the same time. Measuring done, Coën sets aside his materials and braces his hands on the counter. “She and I were planning on taking over the bakery when we were grown.” 

He closes his eyes and an image of her appears, blurry from the passing decades but still bright as the sun. Her dimpled grin, so mischievous, her auburn hair she always put in braids, her delighted giggle as they ran from whatever trouble they brewed up together. The day she was born Coën knew his life’s purpose was to protect her, guard her, fill her with joy. 

He failed. 

A gentle hand on his shoulder jolts Coën back to the present. He turns to find sympathetic eyes and a sorrowful smile greeting him. “Would you like to talk about her? About them?” Coën releases a shaky breath. Does he? He hadn’t spoken about them since that fateful day until Coën mentioned how his parents died to Yennefer all those weeks ago. The loss of his family has been a festering wound in his heart that he has not allowed to heal. He doesn’t know what talking about them will accomplish. But their memories shouldn’t be forgotten. 

Coën stirs the batter before he scoops it onto a waiting tray methodically, trying to find the words to describe the love that infused his life as a lad. “Every night my Ma would read a story to us and my Pa would sing a song," he begins at a whisper. "Often Lucja and I would sneak out to lay out on a hill and watch the stars shine bright.” He smiles. “I think my Ma and Pa knew but they allowed us to roam free.” Coën closes his eyes. “It was a happy household.” 

Silence falls as a fresh wave of grief washes over Coën and threatens to drown him. “I’d be honored if you would teach me some of their recipes if you recall them.” Coën blinks open his eyes and turns to stare at the fierce yet kind woman before him, stomach flipping with apprehension and excitement at the prospect of baking one of his parent’s recipes again. Coën has ensured that they remain fixed in his mind all these decades later, so even if his family is long gone, their creations could live on, at least with him. This will be the first opportunity he has to actually share the recipes though, to relive the memories that each baked good brings to his mind.

“Please,” he finally croaks to Marya, feeling strangled by the rush of memories and grief flooding him. “I wish to keep their memories alive.” 

Smiling softly, Marya cradles Coën’s cheek. “As long as we spread tales of those we lost, they remain with us.” Coën bows his head. In that case, he has several decades to make up for. 

Swallowing harshly he finally rasps, “We can bake a sponge cake perhaps?” 

Marya smiles. “Lead me through it pup.” 

*******

“Hey.” 

Lambert turns to where Ciri has settled beside him, dangling her feet over the edge of the ramparts. “Hey squirt,” he says before returning to mending the wall.

“Vesemir tell you to work on this?”

Lambert hums. “Nah, felt like doing it myself, save the old man his yelling energy.”

Ciri stares at Lambert sceptically. “Since when do you take initiative?” 

“This keep is full of bastards,” Lambert mumbles to himself, shoving a brick into the wall firmly. 

Ciri grins, nudging Lambert’s shoulder. “Don’t lie and say you don’t love it.” 

“I don’t love anything. I’m a being fueled by spite and hate and rage,” Lambert proclaims. Ciri snorts. The first winter she was at the keep, Lambert found her up these very ramparts when Ciri ran from Geralt, overwhelmed by grief and the prospect of her new future. Lambert sat next to her right here, pulled out a knife, and said, “Life kicked you in the bollocks and now you have a choice. Wallow in your misery and loss or make something of yourself.” He flipped the knife so the hilt faced Ciri and looked at her with a raised brow. When Ciri took it hesitantly, Lambert grinned and nodded at the training ground. “You hit the target dummy, you get to keep the knife.” 

Ciri still has that dagger over a decade later. 

Suffice to say, Lambert’s “I hate everything and everyone” bullshit never fooled her. 

“It’s strange you say you don’t love since I coulda _sworn_ I saw you making heart eyes at Aiden yesterday,” Ciri muses with a shit-eating grin. 

Lambert stiffens before muttering to himself. She couldn’t catch every word but it sounded something like, “This is what I get for socializing with the spawn of Geralt, Jaskier, and Yennefer.” 

Ciri laughs before wrapping an arm around Lambert’s shoulders. “I’m happy for you, ya big oaf,” Ciri grins, knocking their heads together gently. 

“Hm. You’re still a prick.” 

“Takes one to know one,” Ciri teases, before pulling out the dagger he gave her all those years ago. “Closest one to hit the center gets first pick of a fluffy companion tonight?” 

Ciri watches with amusement as Lambert visibly fights between his urge to always take up a challenge and his aversion to admitting how much he enjoys the various animals around the keep. Finally, he pulls out one of the concerning amount of knives Lambert hides on his person. “You’re on squirt,” he says with a savage grin. 

It was a tie. 

*******

Aiden walks out of the library to find himself face to face with Marya. The shifter studies him for a moment before nodding towards the hall. “With me.” Without a word, Aiden obeys the order. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Marya slightly terrifies him. If the fact that she has the entire keep wrapped around her little finger because of her biscuits wasn’t enough, Aiden has seen her fight in both forms and she is fucking lethal. Not to mention, she’s the mum of Jaskier and helped save Aiden’s life this past year. Essentially, Marya is one badass lady that Aiden is not willing to cross. They haven’t spent much time alone though so suffice to say he’s slightly worried. 

“How’s the neck?” 

Aiden places a hand at the spot where he had teeth tear through skin the day earlier. “Good as new.” 

Marya nods. “Good.” Aiden matches her brisk pace until they make way to the dining hall and, surprisingly, the kitchen. He raises a brow when Aiden spots Coën there wearing an apron. 

Marya turns so she’s facing Aiden, hands propped on her hips. “You’re good for Lambert. Keep him grounded and steady. And you’ve helped my pup more than any of us have been able to.” Aiden feels his ears pinken. He’s not used to having his good deeds acknowledged, though this is in part due to the fact that before meeting Lambert, there weren’t many good deeds to name. Marya sweeps her arm towards the counter. “To thank you I’m giving you first taste of the sponge cake Coën made.” She looks sheepish for a moment. “Well, second or third taste. It’s really bloody good and I’m trying not to be jealous.” 

Aiden’s mouth gapes open slightly. Fuck, between Geralt thanking him and now this offering, Aiden’s ego is at risk of bursting. Stepping towards the cake that has definitely had more than three bites in it at this point, Aiden takes a dainty bite before his eyes widen. The taste of lemon bursts on his tongue and the texture is the moisest thing on this godsdamned Continent. “Holy fuck this is the best thing I’ve put in my mouth in my godsdamned life,” Aiden says fervently. He balks once the sentence leaves his mouth. “Don’t tell Lambert I said that.” 

Watching the large Griffin silently preen and blush turns out to be quite an endearing sight. Since their Lambert-enforced chat, Aiden and Coën have come to an understanding. Well, the chat consisted of a deadly sparring session in which Aiden interrogated Coën regarding his intentions with Lambert while holding a knife to his throat, and the understanding involves not revealing this incident to Lambert. The Wolf would never let Aiden live it down.

Trying his luck, Aiden sneaks in another bite and is shocked when he’s allowed. Everyone in the keep gets their hand smacked away from a plate of biscuits at one time or another; it’s inevitable. Hmm. Maybe Aiden will just linger here for the afternoon. If the distant shouting was any indication earlier, it’s very likely he won’t have a betrothed once Eskel is done with Lambert anyway. 

*******

Ewa watches with amusement as Geralt paces back and forth. “I don’t know...I think we should come up with another option,” he determines. 

She and Yennefer roll their eyes at each other. “Geralt, if he doesn’t like any of these then come back and we’ll think of something else. But until then, do us all a favor and grow some stones and go to your partner,” Ewa says firmly. 

Geralt stands still, expression blank, and Ewa wonders if she’s finally crossed the line. Instead of being chewed out however, she watches as Geralt slumps and bows his head. “You’re right,” he mumbles. Ewa raises her brows. Well. Shit. Collecting the various objects laid on the counter, Geralt turns to Ewa and Yennefer with golden eyes brimming with emotion. “Thank you both. I-” he clears his throat and nods. “Thank you.” 

Ewa watches with exasperated fondness as the witcher scurries out of the forge. “Love makes fools of us all, huh?” she muses. 

“Speak for yourself,” Yennefer sneers. 

“Huh. Weird. ‘Cause I coulda sworn I recall working with you to make another beacon a few weeks ago,” Ewa reflects thoughtfully. Tilting her head with a smirk she adds, “That wouldn’t have been for a certain Griffin, would it?” 

Yennefer scowls before lifting her nose. “Don’t know what you’re talking about blacksmith,” she sniffs. 

Rolling her eyes Ewa says amusedly, “Sure sorceress.” Her relationship with Yennefer is one that surprises even Ewa. When the sorceress came to her last winter with an idea to combine their two skills in order to help keep Kaer Morhen’s residents safe, suffice to say the blacksmith was shocked. On the outside and from a distance, Yennefer is all sharp edges and lethal attitude. It didn’t take long working by her side for Ewa to realise that Yennefer was just like some other members of the keep: what’s on the outside doesn’t reflect the inside at all. Since then, they’ve developed an odd sense of camaraderie that is based on snark and half-hearted insults. Jaskier assured Ewa that this means Yennefer likes her. 

“He seems sweet,” Ewa says casually, straightening up her workspace. 

“Please don’t tell me you want to engage in _girl talk,”_ Yennefer drawls. 

Ewa shoots a cheeky grin at the sorceress lounging against a counter in a silk red gown. “Would you like to engage in some girl talk?” Ewa says sweetly. “I noticed neither of you were in the pack room last night.” 

Yennefer rolls her eyes with a huff and lifts a hand to study her nails. The picture of bored nonchalance if it weren't for the slight blush peppering her cheeks. “I suppose he’s not entirely boorish, unlike a certain wolf,” she sighs idyly. 

Ewa smiles as she places her tools in the proper place. One day Geralt will understand what a clean workspace should look like. “Did I ever tell you about how Geralt acted my first winter here?” 

A feral grin crosses Yennefer’s lips. “Oh do tell.” Ewa wipes her hands on a rag before leaning against her counter with a mischievous smirk. Even if Yennefer isn’t a witcher, it’s clear as day that she isn’t comfortable talking about her emotions and Ewa is happy to give her an out. Besides, if she’s lucky, she may get some solid blackmail material out of the conversation. 

*******

Geralt follows the sound of lute music back to his and Jaskier’s room, heart thumping far too loudly for a witcher. When he creaks open the door, Geralt’s breath catches in his throat. Gods, but he’s beautiful. Jaskier is humming to himself and floating around the room as he plays, eyes closed with a small smile dancing on his lips. At the sound of the door closing, Jaskier pauses and blinks his eyes open with a guarded expression until he sees who it is. Tilting his head, Jaskier hums, “What do you have behind your back my dear?” 

Geralt takes a steady breath, replaying the words he’s rehearsed in his head. “First I want to say I love you. And if you say no to all of them I can think of something else or take any suggestions you have or we can screw the whole idea,” he rushes out. 

Placing his lute carefully down on a chair, Jaskier walks towards Geralt with a fondly amused expression on his face. “It would help to know what you’re talking about, love,” he says gently. 

“Yeah. Right.” Geralt nods. Takes another breath. Then turns to the bed to lay out what he had been carrying. Scattered across the furs now lie an earring in the shape of a dandelion, a ring with a sapphire gem, and a bracelet with flowers carved into the band. “I was also thinking about a knife or perhaps a charm to hang from your lute if something that you don’t actually wear would be better,” Geralt reports apprehensively. Dread pools in his stomach. “Fuck why did I let them convince me this was good I shoulda made those too before I approached you I was just worried I wouldn’t have time before winter ended and-” he cuts himself off before he makes a total ass out of himself. 

Jaskier hasn’t said a word, hasn’t looked up from where he’s staring at the objects laid out for him to see. “You made these. As a new betrothal gift?” Lithe fingers touch a neck that once proudly displayed a pendant carved by Geralt’s hand. Eyes as deep as the sea and as bright as the summer sky turn to him and Geralt has to clasp his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting. 

“I-yes.” Geralt nods. 

Jaskier turns back to the items, trailing a finger along each one. “You went through all this work so I had options?” 

Geralt licks his lips. “Your choice had already been taken from you enough,” he rasps.

“Do they work the same? If I shifted?” 

Geralt shifts his weight back and forth. He can't tell from Jaskier's tone how he's feeling. “Yennefer has a couple options for that too. If you don’t want it to stay on you then it would fall off but it can be called by its other half and fly to it.” 

“You made other halves?” Jaskier croaks, staring at Geralt incomprehensibly. 

“I-” Geralt growls and rubs the back of his neck. Jaskier is the wordsmith, not he. “I want you to be happy. As I said, I can also make you a dagger or a charm if you don’t wish to wear something anymore, which I wouldn’t blame you for.” 

Geralt usually can read Jaskier so well but as the shifter looks down at the gifts once more, Geralt is getting nothing. Jaskier slowly begins to shake his head. Fuck, was this all a huge mistake? He opens his mouth to apologise only for Jaskier to speak before him. “You, Geralt of Rivia, are quite possibly the gentlest creature I have the honor of knowing.” When Jaskier looks up to Geralt again his eyes shine like pools of water reflecting moonlight. Tears begin streaming down his cheeks and Geralt hurries forward consumed by the urge to wipe them away. When he receives a minute nod, Geralt gently brushes a thumb across Jaskier’s cheek before he’s being kissed. It takes little time to recover from the surprise before Geralt is returning the kiss fervently, tasting salt and joy and love. When they break away, Jaskier’s gaze burns. “Can I have them all?” he whispers. 

Geralt presses their foreheads together. “You can have anything you want.” 

Jaskier looks off to the side for a moment, twining their fingers together as he does. “And if I said I wanted you?” he asks, turning to look at Geralt shyly. 

“You have me,” Geralt whispers, kissing Jaskier gently and following the shifter as he guides them back towards the bed. Turning so he can reverently pick up each item and place them gently to the side table, Jaskier draws Geralt upon him. “I want to worship every part of you,” Geralt breathes, feeling Jaskier shudder beneath him. 

_”Please."_

Jaskier lays curled up to Geralt who has twined himself around the shifter until there is no space between them. They didn’t do much other than kiss and remove their tunics despite how keen they both were; Jaskier was too overwhelmed by Geralt’s touch. Each brush of fingers and press of lips over one of Jaskier’s scars seemed to turn the ugly markings into something beautiful. 

“You know Geralt...” Jaskier hums, dancing his fingertips along the dozing witcher’s arm. 

“Hm?” he grunts. 

“We’ve technically been betrothed for several years at this point. Are you planning on making an honest man out of me one of these days?” 

Geralt stiffens and his eyes shoot open. Well that woke him up. “Is it absolutely necessary?” the witcher asks faintly. 

Laughing lightly, Jaskier maneuvers them onto their sides so they’re face to face. Linking one of their hands together Jaskier asks, “What terrifies you the most: being wed to me officially, declaring your love for all to see, or having Lambert utterly embarrass you during the ceremony?” 

Wrapping his arms back around Jaskier Geralt buries his head in the shifter’s chest. “All the above,” he mumbles. 

Grinning, Jaskier kisses Geralt’s head fondly. “I’m sorry to tell you this dear, but we’re already more than wed in the eyes of shifters, you already declared your love to me in front of others when you asked me to marry you, and nothing you can do or say will stop Lambert from embarrassing you.”

Geralt grumbles something inaudible against Jaskier’s chest. “We also don’t have to be wed you know Geralt,” Jaskier adds gently after a pregnant pause. “You are my mate which makes us closer than any human law could make us. I don’t need to be married for us to have a bond.” Geralt nuzzles Jaskier's neck in response. Smiling Jaskier adds, “And you've already given me several items that allows me to flaunt that I'm yours.” He still can’t quite believe all the effort Geralt went into just to give Jaskier choices for a betrothal gift. And here he thought his heart couldn’t be more full of love for his mate. Clearly he was wrong. 

Instead of giving Jaskier any answer, Geralt shifts, making the bard laugh. It's only fair; Jaskier has done the same when he wanted to win an argument or avoid a conversation in the past. Shifting as well, Jaskier spins around until he's properly curled around the larger wolf. _Mate_ Jaskier rumbles rubbing his head under Geralt's neck. Instead of responding with words, Geralt sends pulses of emotion: love, adoration, relief. Jaskier returns the expression of Geralt's devotion with a flow of his own emotions: love, appreciation, elation. Geralt's tail thumps against the bed and Jaskier wiggles even closer to his mate. They remain there for the rest of the afternoon. 

*******

Eskel watches with amusement as Ciri and Lambert argue after dinner, taking another bite out of the mouthwatering sponge cake Coën baked earlier. And who the fuck knew the Griffin could do that? Eskel hopes he knows what he got himself into because now that the members of the keep have tasted Coën’s baking, there will always be demands for more.

“I’m telling you, an endrega warrior has six legs, not four!” Ciri exclaims, waving her hands emphatically before taking another gulp of mead.

“And I’m telling you squirt, I’m a bit more older and experienced than you so I know what I’m talking about,” Lambert retorts with a cross of his arms. 

Growling, Ciri storms out of the room and Eskel assumes she’s gone to cool off. A few minutes later however she stalks back in carrying a book. Slamming it down at the table, Ciri flips to a page and points firmly at what looks like a detailed drawing of an endrega warrior. “Six,” she says victoriously. 

Lambert studies it for a long time before pushing the book away with a snort whilst Eskel continues to analyze it with interest. “I don’t know what hack sold you this but they don’t know what they’re talking about,” Lambert sniffs. “Since when do merchants sell bestiaries? And since when do they include drawings?” 

Eskel traces the diagram with a light finger. “This detail is incredible,” he breathes. 

"Yeah but it doesn’t mean shit ‘cause whoever made doesn't _know_ shit,” Lambert huffs, crossing his arms once more. 

Eskel watches as Geralt trades an unreadable glance with Jaskier before rising from the hearth and trodding towards the table. “Considering I made that bestiary I think I know what I’m talking about,” he rumbles. 

Everyone in the room freezes what they were doing and huddles around the book to stare at it closer. “You mean...you draw?” Eskel asks dumbly.

He watches as Geralt shuffles his feet awkwardly before crossing his arms with an obstinate expression. “Yeah what of it?” 

Shocked silence falls upon the dining hall for a long moment. Finally, it's broken as Lambert releases a long laugh, slapping the table only to be interrupted by a wolf launching itself at him. Fuck. Eskel and Aiden scramble and pull a snarling Jaskier off of Lambert, slumping when they confirm Jaskier hasn’t torn into him. Thank fuck. Aiden and Eskel hold Jaskier securely as he fights a bit longer before slumping with a sullen growl. 

When they release him, Jaskier shifts, glaring venomously at Lambert as he pulls on the trousers thrown at his face. “Make fun of my mate again and I won’t hold myself back,” Jaskier snarls. Eskel has never seen Lambert look so cowed before, nor Jaskier so enraged. Once he’s fully dressed Jaskier stands rigid before blinking several times. Coming back to himself, Jaskier releases a horrified gasp and hurries to where Lambert is still sprawled on his back, whining when the witcher slightly flinches. “Oh _fuck_ I’m so sorry Lambert I don’t know what came over me I-” at this point he’s fallen to his knees and has his hands raised as if desperate to touch Lambert. 

After a brief hesitation, the witcher draws Jaskier into a hug. “Hey, you’re fine Songbird, I'm okay. I didn’t mean to be a prick,” he murmurs. Jaskier shudders in his hold and they remain there together. 

Turning to give them privacy, Eskel flips through the book. “So you actually drew all of these?” He shakes his head incredulously. It looks like they were made by a professional. 

Eskel glances up to where Geralt is watching Lambert and Jaskier before the other witcher turns to look at the book. He shrugs. “Drawing helped me learn all the monster facts better. After the first beating I decided to keep it to myself.” Eskel’s stomach twists at the memory of what their training was like as children. Brutal was putting it lightly. 

“You have a gift pup,” Vesemir says, drawing up beside him. Geralt turns to their former instructor with wide eyes. The older witcher smiles sadly. “I bet other lads coulda used this form of teaching if only we had been a bit more open minded." Geralt has never looked so vulnerable, so young, since before the trials. 

“These are wonderful! Do you draw anything other than monsters?” Kamil asks, pressing against Eskel as he studies the drawings Eskel flips through. 

Geralt blinks as if coming out of a daze. “I, uh. Yeah,” he says faintly. “Drawn all of you at one point or another.” 

“You should show them, love,” Jaskier murmurs from where he’s buried himself in Lambert’s chest. 

The younger witcher has wrapped himself around Jaskier and now looks at Geralt guardedly. “Thought you were bullshitting us,” he says awkwardly, avoiding Geralt’s gaze. Hugging Jaskier closer he shrugs. “You got any of Aiden looking like an idiot?” he asks weakly. 

Accepting the olive branch, Geralt’s lips twitch before heading to the hall. “Let me see what I can find.” 

A few moments later, Geralt lugs down a chest which reveals countless drawings depicting every member of the keep. Dandelion and Jaskier wrestling, Eskel and Lambert sparring, Leon and Ewa in the forge, Ciri and Lambert throwing bombs at bottles, Biscuit and Roach curled up together, Marya and Vesemir baking, Yennefer and Coën walking through the greenhouse, Eskel and Kamil reading, Lil Bleater standing proudly atop Coën’s shoulders, Lambert juggling knives whilst Aiden looks on fondly, the entire keep curled up in the pack room, and a multitude of other scenes. 

Everyone in the keep is gathered around the chest, each holding at least one piece of parchment as they stare at the art in awe. Meanwhile, Geralt is looking more and more uncomfortable and nervous as the silence stretches on. Meeting his brother’s gaze Eskel croaks, "These are incredible.” Geralt looks shocked at this admission and ducks his head in a very un-Geralt way. 

“Can I have some of these?” Kamil whispers, tracing a finger down an image of Eskel grinning as he feeds Biscuit.

“We should hang them around the keep,” Ewa suggests, smiling softly at a picture of her, Ciri, and Leon laughing in the forge. 

At the assenting sounds of those gathered, Jaskier beams at Geralt. “I told you they would love it,” he says fondly, bouncing to his feet to peck Geralt’s cheek. The witcher in question simply grumbles noncommitedly and shrugs. 

“These are definitely going to be displayed,” Marya says firmly, gripping an image of her and Jaskier shifted and curled up together. 

Aiden picks up a drawing of Lambert looking relaxed as he’s rested against the Cat. “I’m keeping this one,” he says decisively. 

Balking when he spots what Aiden is holding, Lambert snatches it from him. “No I’m burning this one,” he exclaims, shrinking when he hears a low growl. Gripping the picture he grumbles, “This will ruin my reputation.” 

Rolling his eyes, Aiden plucks the parchment from Lambert’s grasp. “Your reputation was ruined a long time ago kitten,” he informs the Wolf fondly. Eskel tunes out the rest of their bickering as he casts a gaze over the numerous drawings that capture life at Kaer Morhen. Each piece of art is rendered in painstaking detail and immaculately captures the joy and love that has infused the keep with each new member that has arrived. Eskel smiles softly. This is his family. This is his life. 

Dear Melitele, How did he get to be so godsdamned lucky? 

A moment later Lil Bleater trots up to investigate what everyone is looking at. Eyes widening, Eskel snatches the goat up into his arms. Lil Bleater hasn’t fully comprehended that not everything is food and Eskel has no illusions that the goat would take a bite out of any of those pieces of art if he had the chance. The sooner they hang them up the better; thank the gods goats can’t fly. 

*******

Papa bleater was very rude to Lil Bleater earlier by not letting Lil Bleater eat yummy looking food in the light time and in the dark time. So rude! Lil Bleater guesses he can forgive papa bleater now though because papa bleater placed Lil Bleater between papa bleater and cuddly predator and that is Lil Bleater’s favorite place to be. Lil Bleater likes everyone in his herd but papa bleater is Lil Bleater’s papa and cuddly predator gives the best cuddles. Lil Bleater is hoping that he gets to stay with them after the cold time ends. 

Dandelion is very happy. Tall one and wild one are both cuddling and petting him and it feels very very nice. Dandelion misses his litter when they all go away. Dandelion doesn’t understand why they leave. Why can’t they stay together after the cold time? As much as Dandelion likes loud one who-is-loud-again and soft one, Dandelion thinks he’ll spend time with the others in their litter for the rest of the cold time. He hopes that they all have soft things like him and littermate and little brother after the cold time ends because everyone deserves a soft thing to pet. For now, Dandelion is happy to be the soft thing for them. Dandelion’s job is very very hard. 

Alloy missed large one and scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore last dark time. She is very happy to see that they are back in the litter now. Scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore is lying on large one so Alloy wiggles next to scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore so she can rest on large one too. Large one is very very comfy. Alloy purrs as scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore pets her. Scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore didn’t always do pets but Alloy, littermate, and little brother have helped scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore get more comfortable with giving pets. Alloy is happy to see that their hard work has paid off. Being a four legged is very hard work. 

Biscuit nickers as noisy one who-is-noisy-again gives her pets. Every dark time noisy one visits Biscuit before he goes to the rest of the herd. Biscuit is happy that noisy one shows the human sign of happiness more. Biscuit understands a bit why mama biscuit calls noisy one noisy one. Noisy one does a lot of talking but noisy one hasn’t touched any wooden thing that makes sound like mama biscuit says he does. Maybe Biscuit will see what mama biscuit is talking about one day. For now, Biscuit butts noisy one gently and swishes her tail when he bares his teeth in the human sign of happiness. Noisy one gives Biscuit a kiss on the head before moving to mama biscuit as Biscuit settles down to sleep.

Roach whinnies happily when noisy one gives her pets. Roach is very happy that noisy one is noisy again, even if she hasn’t seen the wooden thing. Maybe she’ll see it during the warm time. Noisy one takes some time to put nice smelling things in Roach’s mane which makes Roach very happy. Scorpion likes the nice smelling things in Roach’s mane and Roach does too. With a final pet, noisy one whispers something in human before leaving the warm place. Roach settles next to her little one. Roach is happy that little one is part of such a big herd because they all take care of little one. Roach hopes that noisy one and gentle one will bring little one with them and Roach when they go back to walking during the warm time. Lying down, Roach places her head upon little one protectively. It’s nice to have little one to curl up with. 

Heads turn when Songbird makes his way into the pack room, and eyes widen when they see what he’s holding. Wearing a determined expression, Jaskier makes his way to Lambert. Lambert won’t say that he wasn’t slightly unsettled at Songbird’s outburst earlier but the last thing he wants is for Jaskier to retreat back into himself. Shifting up despite the disgruntled meow he gets in response, Lambert wraps an arm around Songbird and presses him close. Shooting him a tremulous smile, Jaskier turns to his lute, studiously avoiding everyone’s gaze as he slowly begins to strum. 

The first notes are tentative but already the sound seems to cast a spell through the room as everyone relaxes and settles down. Fuck but Lambert missed this. Not that he would ever admit that of course. Despite himself, Lambert finds himself humming along to the familiar tune, eyes widening when Aiden, Vesemir, and Marya join in. Soon, Ciri and Ewa begin singing and Jaskier looks around the room with wide eyes. Licking his lips, Jaskier softly joins in and gods but Lambert missed that sound. 

Yennefer and Coën watch as everyone in the room hums or sings along to Jaskier’s playing. Fuck, she missed the little bird’s music. A sense of melancholy falls upon Yennefer as she processes that winter is close to over. Brushing aside that emotion, unwilling to examine it too closely, Yennefer whispers archly, “I hope you don’t expect me to travel with you as you gallivant across the Continent monster hunting.” 

Coën smiles down at her fondly as he continues to pet the cat perched on his chest. “I would never expect you to do something you don’t wish to do,” he murmurs, reaching his other hand to brush his fingers through her braids. 

Humming, Yennefer props herself on an elbow, tapping her fingernails upon his chest. “I suppose you could visit me, or I you occasionally,” she concedes, already brainstorming how she can stay in contact with him so Yennefer can portal to Coën’s location whenever she wants. 

“That would bring me great pleasure my lady,” Coën rumbles. Harrumphing, Yennefer twines her arms around Coën and lays back down. There will be some more time to figure out the logistics. For now, she’s going to enjoy this. Despite her fears, Coën hasn’t revealed any untoward plans for Yennefer, hasn’t indicated the ways he wishes to use her. Yennefer’s guard isn’t completely down and likely never will be, she’s not a fool. But, she has been surprised to discover that lowering her walls slightly hasn’t seemed to compromise her, hasn’t seemed to threaten her dignity. Maybe she can have this. Maybe. 

As Jaskier continues to play, he feels a part of himself he had thought he lost slot back together. Fuck, not touching his lute for months was like walking around with a missing limb. He is surprised to find that as he plays and sings, the tempest that always rages within him nowadays seems to calm, at least slightly. Huh, he hadn't considered the effects music might have on his control. Perhaps he’ll need to experiment with this further. But for now, Jaskier is going to allow himself to luxuriate in the scent and sounds of his pack, the vibrations of his lute, the kindling hope that he really might be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to read about Leon meeting an asexual succubus and the hijinks and fluff that follow, how Eskel and Kamil found Lil Bleater, and/or Lambert and Aiden meeting a fluffy thing of their own (spoiler alert it’s not a cat), consider subscribing to my series **"I'll Be Your Shelter."** That's where I add all my non-Geralt/Jaskier centered stories :-)
> 
> Thank you **TheOnlyHuman** for the nightmare idea :-)
> 
> Character list:  
>  **Geralt:** soft one, gentle one, littler hill  
>  **Jaskier:** loud one, noisy one, nice predator 
> 
> **Lambert:** wild one, shouty one, one-who-likes-pointy-things  
>  **Aiden:** two-legged littermate, two-legged kitty
> 
>  **Eskel:** strong one, papa bleater  
>  **Kamil:** quiet one, cuddly predator 
> 
> **Marya:** mama loud one, mama wolf  
>  **Vesemir:** papa soft one, papa wolf
> 
>  **Leon:** metal brother, fire one's littermate  
>  **Ewa:** fire one, metal sister, metal one  
>  **Ciri:** tall one, sister-who-smells-like-metal-sister, lil wolf, 
> 
> **Yennefer:** scary one who-is-not-so-scary-anymore, one whose-fur-is-not-for-eating  
>  **Coen:** large one, big hill
> 
>  **Dandelion:** littermate, older brother  
>  **Alloy:** littermate, older sister  
>  **Roach:** Mama Dandelion, Mama Biscuit  
>  **Biscuit:** little sister, little one  
>  **Lil Bleater:** little brother


End file.
